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; * f Works by 


Histories, etc. 

Stranger Than Fiction 

This Believing World 

The Graphic Bible 

Since Calvary 

How Odd of God 
Something Went Wrong 


That Man Heine 

Blessed Spinoza 


All Things Are Possible 
Oh, Say 3 Can You See! 


A Summation of Modern History 


With Decorations and Maps 
Myna and Lewis Browne 

New York 1942 

Copyright, 1942, by 

All rights reserved no part of tliis m book 
may be reproduced in any form without 
permission in writing from the publisher, 
except by a reviewer wno wishes to quote brief 
passages in connection with a review written 
for inclusion in magazine or newspaper. 




Who Asked for a True Mystery Story 

"It has never been established that any author 

ever wrote a strictly objective history perhaps 
because there has never been any reader equal to 
the exertion of wading through so dull a work" 


A Cultural History of the Modern Age. 

I. Came the Revolution 1 

II. From Watt to What? 9 

III. Suffer Little Children 18 

IV. The Poor Shall Never Cease 27 
V. The Rich Shall Never Rest 35 

VI. A Man with a Plan 43 

VII. The Religion of Manchesterism 51 

VIII. The Black Life Spreads 61 

IX. John Bull Takes a Ride 70 

X. Arise Ye Workers ! 79 

XI. 1848 The Fight That Failed 88 

XII. The Brand of Gain 93 

XIII. The Gospel According to Marx 103 

XIV. Yankee Doodle Goes to Town 112 
XV. Made in Germany 118 

XVI. The Machine Grows Up 126 

XVII. The Mind Stands Still 133 

XVIIL Business Is Business 142 

XIX. John Bull's Dilemma 150 

XX. Goads to Empire 157 



XXI. Philanthropy Plus Five per Cent 165 

XXII. The Great White Lie 172 

XXIII. Three Who Came Late 183 

XXIV. Death for Sale 196 
XXV. They Cry Peace, Peace ! 204 

XXVI. And They Cry Havoc ! 213 

XXVII. The First World War 226 

XXVIII. The Bed Dawn 239 

XXIX. The Plague of Nations '254 

XXX. The Little Caesars 268 

XXXI. Still the Machine Grows 279 

XXXII. The Big Boom 285 

XXXIII. The Great Crash 297 

XXXIV. The Best Laid Plans 304 
XXXV. A New Deal 313 

XXXVI. Unmade in Germany 325 

XXXVII. Total-Aryanism 333 

XXXVIII. Came the Counter-Bevolution 343 

Index 355 


England's Population Moves 15 

Germany circa 1830 65 

Italy circa 1830 68 

Railroads circa 1848 72 

Britain's Population 80 

Europe's Industrial Centers circa 1847 90 

The British Empire 167 

The French Empire 173 

The Russian Empire 177 

ILS.A.-Europe 181 

Japan's Population 186 

Japan Opens Up 187 

The Race to Tunisia 190 

The German Empire 192 

Before and After Rhodes 198 

The New Europe 261 

What Germany Lost 264 

Militarism: 1913 w. 1930 269 

U.S.A. Industrial Production,, 1855-1935 286 

Germany: Debts vs. Assets 291 

Soviet Industrial Production, 1924-1931 315 

U.S.A. Industrial Production., 1929-1933 320 



F YOU should ask what happened 
in 1776, you would probably be 
told It was the year when the Dec- 
laration of Independence was 
signed. But something else of im- 
portance happened that year, and 
in a way it was of even greater 
importance. True, It attracted al- 
most no attention at the time. All 
the notice it got was one paragraph on an inside page of one 
small-town British weekly. Yet in effect the incident was the 



X marking the spot where mankind turned a corner. Right 
about there mankind veered straight into the road to nowa- 

The scene of the incident was a grimy little colliery not 
far from Birmingham, in England. The date was the eighth 
of March, 1776. There on that day, in the midst of a small 
crowd of gaping onlookers, a pale, sober-eyed inventor 
started up a new machine to pump water out of the mine. He 
was a certain James Watt, age 40, tall, stoop-shouldered, 
hair prematurely gray ; and his contraption was an iron 
monster that ate fire, belched smoke, and pumped like hell. 
Those who stood by and watched it were amazed. 

Not that they had never seen a steam-pump before. Such 
devices had already existed in England for fully seventy 
years. (For that matter, the basic principle underlying them 
had been knocking about in books for almost seventeen hun- 
dred years!) Those earlier models, however, were crude, 
leaky, feeble affairs. To keep them going was almost more 
troublesome than pumping by hand. 

But this machine of Watt's was in another class entirely. 
It did not merely boil and hiss and cough and rattle. It actu- 
ally worked. The piston hammered up and down as though 
driven by a dozen devils, and gallons of water came sluicing 
out at every stroke. Up and down went that piston, up and 
down, up and down ; and with each stroke, whoosh came the 
black mine-water. 

The crowd broke into cheers, and one man, an ironmaster 
named Matthew Boulton, seemed hard put to keep from 
dancing. There was a special reason in his case: he owned a 
half-share in the invention. "Mr. Watt," he is known to have 
confided, "I hope and flatter myself that we are at the eve 
of a fortune!" 

As it turned out, Mr. Boulton hoped and flattered himself 


aright. But, had he realized what the world was at the eve of, 
one wonders whether the good man would not also have shud- 
dered a little. For the monster which he had helped to let 
loose on earth did more than bring him and his partner a 
fortune; a great deal more. 

It helped to bring the world a revolution. 

To most people the word "revolution" suggests something 
sudden, convulsive, spectacular. They picture mobs brandish- 
ing scythes in flame-lit boulevards, bloody flags, bloodier 
gutters, and high-born ladies going to their death uncowed. 
But those are merely the superficial revolutions, the fleeting 
storms on the sea of history, the momentary crinklings and 
quakings in the external crust of the social earth. The really 
serious revolutions work slowly, and for the most part deep 
down. They work deep down and in stealth, gnawing the 
ground out from under age-old traditions, and wrecking the 
innermost order of life. They do not begin with chaos and 
slaughter. They usually end with them. 

And to that far graver kind belongs the revolution of 
which I have just spoken. There was no building of barri- 
cades to signal its outbreak, no looting of mansions, no mur- 
der of gentry. For this revolution, being a serious one, did 
not break out at all. Instead it crept in ... and went to work. 

It quite literally went to work, for it was a revolution in 
man's way of working. Until the coming of the steam-engine, 
we humans were forced to rely primarily on brawn to make 
life comfortable. We used the delicate muscles in our fingers, 
the grosser muscles in our arms and legs, the still grosser 
muscles in the hocks and hams of tamed beasts. As a result 
we never did make life comfortable, not even approximately. 
We were too muscle-bound. Strain and sweat as we might, we 
could never produce even a steady supply of food for our- 


selves, let alone enough fair clothing or sound shelter. All 
through the ages we strained, we sweated, yet these things 
we never achieved. And life was therefore lean, mean, and 
sour with rancor. Men had to fight for the barest necessities ; 
they had to fall out over the smallest crumbs. All society was 
shabby, and all existence was harsh, because there were not 
enough goods to go around. 

True, we managed to survive, we got along but always 
in considerable misery. And this left us chronically dissatis- 
fied. After all, we were human beings, not dumb brutes. They 
might be content merely to get along; but not we. No, we 
had to get ahead. 

That was why we kept seeking easier ways of doing things. 
We did not seek them methodically, of course. Before modern 
times" we did not really hunt for improvements ; we merely 
pottered around till we somehow stumbled on them. Fortuity 
was the mother of invention then. 

Nevertheless we did make progress. First we hit on simple 
tools like the hammer and the ax. Then came simple ma- 
chines like the fire-drill and the pottery-wheel. The plow, 
the wagon, the lens, the compass, the printing-press: all 
these were devices which we invented to save ourselves labor. 
(And also the battering-ram, the cannon, the thumbscrew, 
the rack.) By the beginning of the Eighteenth Century we 
had stumbled on so nrany shortcuts to production and de- 
struction, too that we might almost have been satisfied. 

But we were not. On the contrary, it was just then that 
the urge to invent became at last conscious and resolute. 
Europe, which had first stirred from its sleep in the Eleventh 
Century, now finally stopped yawning and really went to 
work. And that led to a revolution more infernal and also 
more sublime than any other in human history. Thanks to it, 


man was able at last to acquire material abundance, and 
thus equip himself to seek a sound spiritual life. 

Ever and again there comes a time when a strange yeasti- 
ness invades the race, and there is a stir somewhere on earth. 
Why that happens, no one knows ; it just happens. It is like 
spring : secret forces become brazen, buried seeds begin sud- 
denly to bear. The Eighteenth Century was such a time. It 
brought advance in almost every branch, of human activity : 
in politics, science, morals, religion, even irreligion. But most 
of all it brought advance in technology and in doing that it 
accomplished what was mundanely most imperative of all. 
Methods of manufacture which had been followed for ages 
became almost abruptly no longer tolerable. Tools which had 
been in constant use since the time of Tubal Cain were al- 
most all at once discovered to be decrepit. Now a real hunt 
started for technological improvements. 

History records the names of more than five hundred in- 
dividuals who developed inventions during that Eighteenth 
Century. Some of these men were trained engineers, some 
were actually scientists. Most, however, were mere amateurs : 
tinkers, locksmiths, clockmakers, and hobby-riding curates. 
For these, as for the professionals, it was in part a treasure 
hunt, since an apt invention could be made to yield untold 
wealth. But that was not the only lure, nor even the most 
compelling one. The majority seem to have invented for the 
sheer fun of it which was a lucky thing, seeing that fun was 
about all that most of them ever got out of it. The wealth, 
it appears, usually went to fellows who had a genius not so 
much for mechanical invention as financial circumvention. 

That, however, is another story. No matter who got the 
money, the world got the inventions and they were great 
ones. For example, there was, the flying-shuttle, the spinning- 
jenny, and the coke-burning blast furnace. The first two 


ripped the swaddling clothes off the textile industry, and the 
third shattered the crib in which the metal industry had long 
been confined. There was also the primitive sewing machine, 
the primeval typewriter, the original mercury thermometer, 
the first practical water-closet. . . . 

Yet these remained minor achievements. We were still 
hampered, for no matter how cunningly we contrived our 
machines, we still had to rely largely on muscle to move 
them. Even now most goods had to be literally manu-f&c- 
tured "made by hand" and all technology continued to be 
muscle-bound. True, we had long since learnt to harness the 
streams and the winds ; but not very satisfactorily. Water- 
mills could never be more than creaking, poky establish- 
ments. As for windmills, they were too undependable for 
almost anything save grinding corn. So, despite all our in- 
ventiveness, we were only a little better off in A.B. 1775 than 
in 1775 B.C. Now as then our main source of motive-power 
was still brawn. 

Finally, however, Watt produced his steam-engine, and 
then we were free at last. Or rather, we had the means to 
become "free. 

And the story of how we labored to make use of those 
means is in large part the story of our age. 

The story opens on a small, fog-swathed, grassy island 
located in the North Atlantic: lat. 49 57' N. to 58 40' N., 
long. 6 14' W. to 1 46' E. This is in a way surprising, for 
in the past the natives of that particular island had always 
been markedly backward in industry. They had made good 
in a small way in mining and agriculture, and in a large way 
in piracy and other forms of commerce. But when it came 
to manufacture, they had never been anything but yokels. 


Almost their only exports had been iron, wool, tin, and 
colonists all raw materials. 

The national symbol of those islanders was a bluff, gamey s 
heavy-j owled rustic squire named "John Bull" ; and this was 
appropriate. Men after his image had dominated the tiny 
realm for ages. As a result, relatively little attention had 
been paid to so urban a pursuit as large-scale industry. 
That had been left almost entirely to people living on the 
mainland: Frenchmen, Flemings, Italians, and the like. 

But then, belatedly, the islanders began to wake up. The 
change set in around the middle of the Eighteenth Century, 
and led swiftly to startling consequences. The very back- 
wardness of those people gave them an advantage. Being 
innocent of experience in large-scale industry, they dared 
to experiment. Instead of copying the traditional methods 
used on the mainland, they contrived new ones of their own. 
Year after year they kept searching for ways whereby more 
goods could be produced with less effort. And finally it was 
in a sense their crowning achievement one of them per- 
fected the steam-engine. 

After that there was no stopping them. With a mighty 
clatter and snort the iron monster heaved John Bull out of 
the mud and he was ready to outrace all his competitors. 

For the latter continued to use their slow-poking water- 
mills. In part this was out of necessity. A paranoiac named 
Napoleon happened to break loose just then on the Conti- 
nent, and the people there became too busy shooting each 
other to have time to build steam-engines. In addition, those 
people were retarded by misguided thrift. They had con- 
siderable capital tied up in their old-fashioned industrial 
plants, so they hated to scrap them and start afresh. Besides, 
being human, they were inclined to be stubborn. If watermills 


were good enough for our fathers, they said, they're good 
enough for us. So they held out against the steam-engine. 

And, because they held out, they lost out. 

It was one more instance of a familiar paradox in history : 
when the time is ripe for a new advance in civilization, as 
often as not it will be a people from the rear that will come 
out in the lead. The Arabs proved that when they forged 
ahead of the Europeans in the Eighth Century; and the 
Europeans proved it again when they turned the tables in 
the Thirteenth. There are those who say the Asiatics are 
likely to repeat that story in the present century. 

The explanation of this paradox is simple : he who builds 
last is free to build best. That is, if he has the means. And 
the British a hundred and fif ty years ago had means galore. 
To begin with, their coffers were bursting with money gained 
during centuries of trafficking on the seas. To boot, they had 
a lively middle class with audacious ideas as to how money 
should be employed. Most important, their tiny island con- 
tained the iron out of which to forge the new engines, and 
the coal with which to stoke them. It was, therefore, as 
though God Himself had planned that the British should 
triumph at this juncture. 

Being a very God-fearing folk, the British readily fell in 
with the plan. Before long they did triumph. 


HAT came of Britain's triumph is 
a matter of record. That nation 
grew to be the richest and most 
powerful on earth. Of course, it 
had to pay a price for the victory, 
and so high a price that some in- 
sist the victory was really a defeat. 
They publish books to prove it, 
impassioned books full of glowing 
accounts of what Britain was like in the "good old days." 
Such authors, however, are usually better versed in rhetoric 

than in history. 



They can be clever, those authors; they can write with 
verve and wit and caustic irony. Nevertheless, they are not 
to be trusted. Enjoyed, yes; but not trusted. For they gloss 
over the brute bleakness of existence in earlier times, the 
grim want that stalked the land, and the frustration and 
pain bred by that want. When they speak of "Merry Old 
England," their language is truer than they realize. The 
word "merry 35 is collaterally derived from the ancient Teu- 
tonic murj, meaning "short" and that is precisely what 
life was in old England. It was recurrently short of food and 
chronically short of comfort. It was short of opportunity 
for the poor, and enterprise among the rich. It was short of 
roads to free the body, and schools to free the mind. In 
short, it was short of ten thousand boons which later became 
common property. 

Life in those "good old days" was by later standards 
hardly life at all. For the bulk of the populace it was a 
process more like vegetation. Most people were like sessile 
plants, bound fast to the clefts where they were born, and 
knowing almost nothing of the great world all around them. 
Want and ignorance bound them close to the soil, so close 
that they were all but buried in it. 

Yet it is difficult to deny one thing. Sorry as life may have 
been in England before the coming of the Machine, imme- 
diately thereafter it probably grew, for the buljc of the pop- 
ulace, even sorrier. 

There were reasons for this, but they can wait. First let us 
look at the record. England got hold of mechanical power, 
and overnight as time is reckoned in the history of a nation 
she learnt to outreach and outsell all her industrial rivals. 
Overnight that is, in about fifty years she made herself 
the "workshop of the world." 

But what a night it was ! Looking back on it one gets the 


impression that a pestilence befell the land. Just as Britain 
had once been ravaged by the Black Death, so did it now fall 
prey to the Black Life. Coal became king, Iron became his 
consort, and between them they brought on an indescribable 
Reign of Squalor. 

It was not all bad. Behind and beneath the squalor there 
was grandeur of a sort: titanic heaving and straining and 
upthrust. At bottom the development was inestimably good. 
On the surface, however, the effect was awful. Whole counties 
became scabby with slums, with hideous mounds of huts en- 
crusted at the base of chimney-stacks. They were called 
towns, but they were not really that. They were man-heaps. 

At the top of these heaps stood a new class of masters: 
tough-gutted fellows many of whom had come up from the 
bottom, and all of whom seemed determined to stay up at 
any cost. By and large they were raw as coal and hard as 
iron. They were "masters" true enough but not in the 
earlier sense of that term: because they had mastered a 
trade. Instead it was because they had made themselves 
masters of men. 

And those at the bottom were a new class of slaves : mere 
"hands" hired by the week to tend machines. They were 
grimy, runty, cave-chested creatures, surly when sober, sav- 
age when drunk, and sick almost all the time. They were sick 
not alone in body but even more in spirit. And for good 
reason. Their kind had always worked hard and endured 
want, but formerly both work and want had followed a 
familiar pattern. Usage had inured the common folk to 
ancient wrongs; tradition had softened their deprivements. 
Life in the past, no matter how wearisome, had at least pos- 
sessed a lulling rhythm. Now it became just hell on wheels. 

But that had to happen. It was one of the unavoidable 
consequences of the advent of the Machine. Not that the Ma- 


chine itself was to blame. It did bring the Black Life to 
England and eventually to almost all the rest of the world 
but it was no more culpable than is the shell for the death 
it spreads on the battlefield. Nor, in a final sense, were the 
owners of the Machine to blame. These were on a par with 
conscript soldiers who do the firing in time of battle. Many 
people will dispute that, but it seems true none the less. Those 
owners the ^capitalists" as they came to be called were 
hardly free agents in what they did. They were hounded by 
the world in which they had their being, that world which 
kept bellowing to them: "Be a capitalist, or else !" 

Therefore, if we must have a villain, we might pick on that 
world. We might and should blame the prevailing state 
of mind for all the evils that ensued. 

To understand that state of mind we must go back and see 
just what happened. The piddling industry existing in 
Great Britain in earlier days had been carried on chiefly 
by independent craftsmen. In most instances, of course, these 
were independent in name alone. In reality they were pris- 
oners, for the wolf was always at their door. However, they 
did enjoy at least one glory: the door was their very own. 
They worked at home, using their own tools, and setting 
the hours to suit their own convenience. 

This was particularly true in the textile industry. Vil- 
lagers would receive the raw wool or cotton from traveling 
contractors, and work it up into finished goods on their own 
little wheels and looms during the winter months. Then the 
contractors would return, pay for the labor, and cart the 
merchandise to market. This was called the a putting-out' ? 
or "domestic" system, and it functioned quite passably in a 
clumsy, sluggish way. 

But then the new inventions started to crowd in. One man 
discovered a way to speed up the process of combing the 


raw cotton. Another hit on a device which enabled a single 
pair of hands to spin several threads at one time. A third 
developed a contraption for weaving the threads almost 
automatically. Year in and year out more and more of such 
improvements appeared, and they wrecked the "domestic 3 * 
system. The new machines were too large to be installed in 
village huts. Also they were too costly. 

So another system arose. The pursuit called industry 
acquired money-glands, and became Industrialism with the 
"I" capitalized in more senses than one. Thus far those 
glands had functioned almost solely in connection with com- 
merce. Capitalists in other words, men who used money to 
make money had confined their activities largely to buying 
raw products in one place and selling them in another. Their 
plants had consisted mainly of ships and warehouses, for 
most of them had been pirates, brokers, or merchants. 

Now they became manufacturers. An increasing number 
of enterprising fellows got hold of capital in one way or 
another, and started small factories. They built them pref- 
erably in rocky gorges, because water-power was needed to 
drive the huge new appliances. Then they went foraging for 
workers. They didn't forage for them among the village 
craftsmen. That would have been a waste of time. Those 
cottagers were proud fellows, poor but proud and stubborn. 
We're independent ! they cried. We'll sell what we make, but 
we won't sell ourselves 1 

So the upstart manufacturers passed them by. They could 
afford to do that because they did not need craftsmen any- 
way. With their new appliances all they needed was a corps 
of dumb attendants. There had to be a certain number of 
eyes to watch the whirling spindles, and as many hands to 
mend any threads that broke. Nothing more. Even children 
could perform tasks as simple as these. 


Wherefore the millowners went after children. Why not? 
Children were cheaper to employ than adults, and also easier 
to manage. 

There was, however, one difficulty. Children were hard to 
find in the remote gullies where the water-powered mills had 
to be located. But that problem was soon solved. Just who 
showed the way is not recorded. All we know is that the way 
began to be followed almost universally. The millowners hied 
themselves to the nearest large cities to London, Liverpool, 
Edinburgh and the like and charitably contracted to empty 
the orphanages. 

The victims of these raids were not necessarily orphans. 
The majority were just hapless waifs left on the hands of 
the parish authorities by parents reduced to pauperdom. 
(Merry Old England may have been short of many other 
things, but never of paupers.) These "infants" as they were 
called and often they were literally that, for they ranged 
in age down to seven or even less were handed over to the 
millowner ostensibly to be apprenticed to a trade. Actually 
they became his chattels. If he was indulgent, he might see to 
it that they washed on Sundays, so as to be fit to be marched 
off to church. He might even teach them to spell out the Ten 
Commandments, the Apostles 5 Creed, and other texts cal- 
culated to improve their souls. But if he was like most, he 
concerned himself only with their hands. 

The millowner, after all, was not supposed to be a philan- 
thropist. He was a businessman, and his first duty was to 
keep his charges busy. So he did his duty. He kept the mites 
at work twelve to fifteen hours each day. In return he fed 
them with scraps and watery porridge, and gave them shelter 
in sheds where they slept three and four in one bunk. More- 
over, he was legally free to hold them on such terms until 
they died or grew to be twenty-one. 

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Of course, if trade fell off and he had to close his mill, he 
often considered himself also free to cart them off in the 
dark of the night and dump them somewhere by the roadside. 

Such were the circumstances in which the "factory sys- 
tem" got started, and none save an occasional crank seemed 
to see anything wrong with them. Sane and respectable peo- 
ple took child-labor as much for granted as they did wife- 
beating or smallpox. The children of poor folk had always 
been made to earn their own keep. True, in the past such 
children had usually earned it at home. They had worked 
for their own parents, doing chores in the fields, or helping 
out at the household looms. That, of course, was worlds re- 
moved from the slavery to which the waifs were subjected 
in the factories; but the difference went almost unnoticed. 
Most people in those days were inclined to take slavery, too, 
for granted. 

Even the good church-going folk were prone to take slav- 
ery for granted. They had done so at least since 1565, 
when good Queen Bess put England into the slave-trade with 
a vessel named sweet irony! the Jesus. To be sure, the 
right to keep a fellow-human in bondage had in the mean- 
time been abolished throughout Great Britain. As the saying 
went, "England's air is too pure to be breathed by a slave." 
Apparently, however, it was not too pure to be breathed by 
slave-traders. The Eighteenth Century saw Liverpool be- 
come the world's center for that trade, and all classes in the 
community yearned to invest money in it. "Many of the 
smaller vessels that carry about 100 slaves," reports a con- 
temporary historian, "are fitted out by attorneys, drapers, 
ropers, grocers, tallow chandlers, barbers, and tailors," 
Such ships were constantly setting sail from Liverpool with 
calico and guns to be bartered in Africa for human flesh, 


which in turn was bartered in the New World for agricul- 
tural produce, which in further turn was carried to England 
to feed the machines and workers who produced the calico 
and guns. Thus all Englishmen, the most benevolent no less 
than the most villainous, were caught up in a vicious cycle 
of slavery. The sugar they consumed was produced by slaves. 
So was the tobacco they smoked, the rum, tea, and coffee 
they drank, and most of the spices they relished. Above all, 
the raw cotton on which the Lancashire mills were battening, 
that too was produced by slaves. 

Slavery was woven right into the warp and woof of British 
life in that day. How then could reasonable folk be expected 
to protest when it showed up in the factories ? 


ONE thing went wrong right from 
the start. The Machine should have 
brought release to mankind but 
instead it brought greater servi- 
tude. Mankind, it appears, was not 
yet ready for release. Too much 
had come too soon, so the imme- 
diate result was too bad. Indus- 
trialism was like a fresh wine 
poured into an old bottle. It had to take on the taste of that 
which had been in the bottle before. Also the smell. 



The evil of slavery crept into the new factories, and it 
stayed in them. True, the millowners did eventually abandon 
their raids on the orphanages, but hardly because of any 
change of heart. No, the cause was a change in technology. 
By that time the steam-engine had begun to come into 
common use, and factories were no longer dependent on run- 
ning streams for power. That meant industry could leave 
the rocky gorges. Industry could move down into the valleys 
where there were towns, and where children were commoner 
than alley-cats. 

Once that happened, the masters were able to become more- 
masterful than ever. Formerly they had had lumbering 
water-wheels to reckon with, so they had been able to crowd 
at most a few score "hands" into each mill. But with the 
new motive-power they could make room for hundreds. More- 
over, it was clearly profitable to use hundreds, since a single 
engine could turn appliances on three or four floors as 
cheaply as on one. The advent of steam proved therefore 
doubly advantageous. On the one hand it created a need for 
more workers in the factories. On the other it enabled the 
factories to spring up where more workers were to be found. 

In general, the most favored towns were those with easiest 
access to coal mines. That was unfortunate from the human 
angle. Such sites lay necessarily along the canals, or down 
on the river-flats, where there was little wind to clear away 
the factory smoke. Consequently the factory populace was 
condemned to live in abiding reek and gloom. But those who 
selected the sites gave no thought to that. After all, they 
were not out to build health-resorts. 

The average industrialist gave thought to one thing alone : 
maximum production at minimum cost. And now he was in a 
position to achieve that end as never before. Having built 
Ms new plant, he needed only to cry, "Suffer little children 


to come unto me!" and straightway hundreds, thousands, 
ame anc j suffered. Grown men, too, joined in the rush ; but 
these the master was prone to turn away. Grown men de- 
manded a grown man's wages. Women he liked better, for 
they asked less. But the master's real welcome went out to 
the children. They asked least of all. 

So now the "apprentices" faded out of the industrial pic- 
ture. Their place was taken by these other children who were 
known technically but without conscious irony as "free." 
The change delighted the average master. With "free" chil- 
dren in his employ, it was really he who became free. He did 
have to pay them wages; but on the other hand he was 
spared the expense of providing board and care. His whole 
relationship to them could be strictly impersonal and busi- 
nesslike. "Apprentices" were legally wards of the govern- 
ment, and this had sometimes led to nasty complications. 
But "free" children belonged exclusively to their parents, 
and these were usually in too desperate a plight to complain. 
Consequently the masters were able to work the mites pretty 
much as they pleased. 

They did. Not that they were ogres. On the contrary, most 
of those masters had right fine hearts ; but, unfortunately, 
they were hearts of gold. Their one aim was to make money, 
and apparently the one way to make money was to keep 
paring the costs. Those who could manufacture most cheaply 
could endure and prosper ; the rest had to go under. There- 
fore generosity had to be forgotten. The world of industry 
had become a jungle in which only the fiercest could survive. 

Thus it came about that the "free" children were ex- 
ploited as nakedly as ever the "apprentices" had been. Be- 
fore dawn each day the factory whistles tore them from 


their slumber, and set them scurrying in their wooden clogs 
to reach the prisonhouse on time. Then for fourteen or fif- 
teen hours they had to breathe dust and cough flue in the 
dank, close, overheated sheds where the cotton-spindles 
whirred. Sweat trickled into their red-lidded eyes as they 
trotted back and forth in front of those spindles ; their legs 
swelled, their backs ached, their heads throbbed harder than 
the engines. Yet they had to keep going. 

Listen to the testimony of Tommy Clarke, aged eleven, 
as reported to a Parliamentary Committee in 1833: 

"I go to the factory a little before six in the morning, some- 
times at five, and work till nine at night. ... I can earn four shil- 
lings [$1.00] a week, but my brother helps me. He is just seven. 
I don't give him anything. If it was not my brother, I'd have to 
pay him a shilling a week." 

That was what went on in the cotton-mills. It was even 
worse down in the mines. Babes of four or five were set to 
guarding trap-doors in the damp, drafty, rat-infested 
blackness. Older children were put to more strenuous tasks. 
They had to lead the pit-donkeys that dragged the loaded 
trucks through the tunnels ; or, if the borings were too small, 
they themselves had to drag the trucks on all fours with the 
aid of chains girdled around their naked loins. For this toil 
the pay was sometimes as high as six shillings ($1.50) a 

Unnatural? Of course it was unnatural. Every instinct in 
the unhappy little tykes rebelled against such enslavement. 
But what could they do? Between hunger and terror they 
were helpless. The first drove them to work, and the second 
kept them at it. For, once the children entered the factories 
or the mines, terror dogged them unceasingly. 


Overseers whipped them if they came late in the morning, 
and cursed and cuffed them if they dawdled during the day. 
Listen again to Tommy Clarke: 

"They always beat us if we lark, or go for water, or fall asleep 
. . . Castles [the overseer] uses a rope thick as my thumb, doubles 
it, and puts knots in it. ..." 

Who was to blame? The overseers? Hardly. Those poor 
devils hounded the children because they themselves were 
hounded by the masters who in turn were hounded by one 
another. It was "dog eat dog" all down the line. 

But such things could not go on for ever. Eventually even 
a few of the millowners and they among the richest ones 
became revolted. All they could do, however, was plead with 
the government to intervene. They argued that so long as 
there were no legal curbs on the employment of children, so 
long were some employers bound to practice abuses. And so 
long as some did that, the rest had to follow suit. They were 
forced to it by the pressure of competition. 

That was sound logic ; nevertheless the government hung 
back. Upright gentlemen arose to point out that free chil- 
dren were involved, and the government therefore had no 
right to interfere. That privilege belonged solely to the 
individual parents. If the latter were too meek, or too de- 
praved, to exercise the privilege, it was indeed very, very 
sad. But better that some children should be denied sun and 
air and health and life itself, than that all parents should be 
robbed of their constitutional prerogatives. To counsel any- 
thing else would be to Undermine the Family, and Destroy 
the Sanctity of the Home! 

The debate dragged on for years and years. Even after 
the authorities were driven to the point of conceding the 


need for reforms, they still balked at enforcing them by law. 
As the Right Honorable Lord Lauderdale put it: "If the 
legislature attempts to enforce a moral code for the people, 
there is always the danger that every feeling of benevolence 
will be extirpated I" That, of course, was unthinkable. 

Finally, however, Parliament was simply compelled to take 
effective action. After almost a generation of agitation, a 
child-labor bill with real teeth in it was at last made law in 
1819. But even then the victory was less than complete, for 
the teeth were too few and too short. Nothing was said 
about work in the mines, for almost all of these were owned 
by noblemen. The new enactment applied solely to the cotton- 
mills, and there its most drastic provision prohibited the 
employment of children under the age of nine. 

But by the time that law was passed, it was the parents, 
not the children, who stood most in need of protection. The 
fate that had trapped the young had at last overtaken the 
grown folk too. 

It was largely because too many peasants had come crowd- 
ing into the factory towns. Year after year more and more 
of them had come crowding in, careless of the misery await- 
ing them because worse lay behind. For they were fugitives. 
Something had come over the British countryside which had 
not happened there in centuries. It was Change. For a thou- 
sand years, even longer, life had gone on almost unaltered 
in the rural regions. Generation after generation the fields 
had been plowed with the same plows, the grain had been 
threshed with the same flails, the sheep had been let out to 
graze behind the same old hedgerows. But now, seemingly of 
a sudden, everything had begun to change. 

The reason is plain to us. What had occurred in industry 
had begun to occur also in agriculture. The new technology 


had penetrated to the farms, and it was revolutionizing 
farm-life. New agricultural machinery had been developed, 
and new schemes for fertilizing the soil and improving the 
live-stock. Tilling and husbandry had begun to be "modern- 
ized," and that took the ground out from under the poor 
peasants. Most of them were mere tenants on great estates, 
and they had neither the wit nor the means to adopt the new 
agronomy. Only the landlords were in a position to do that. 

Now, as a class these landlords were little inclined to try 
anything new. Throughout the past they had been content 
to hunt, drink, play politics, go to church and collect the 
rents. They had been in a literal sense the lords: that is, the 
"loaf-wards," the bread-keepers. The hard chore of bread- 
winning they had left to their tenants. 

Of late, however, some had begun to bestir themselves. 
Not all of them, of course. No, most of the landowners con- 
tinued to act like typical sons of riches, sitting on their 
backgrounds and twiddling their titles. But a number did 
get busy. They saw what was going on in the towns: how 
the upstart industrialists were amassing fortunes, and put- 
ting on airs. That irked those rural gentlemen. They decided 
that they too would do a bit of amassing, for it looked easy. 
They already owned potential capital in the form of land. 
All they had to do was take full advantage of their owner- 
ship in other words, become active capitalists. 

They did do that. They ordered their tenants to clear off, 
tore down the ancient hedges, purchased improved equip- 
ment, and engaged managers to farm the estates on efficient, 
large-scale, capitalistic lines. 

That is why there was so much migration toward the in- 
dustrial centers. A certain number of the peasants were able 
to remain on the soil as cotters or hired laborers ; but the 
rest had to move on. Some moved right out of the country. 


They sold their belongings and bought passage to America, 
Australia, South Africa any place where they could get 
back to the soil. 

Most commonly they emigrated to the United States, where 
they took up homesteads on the frontier. If they were lucky 
or lazy, they lived out their lives on those homesteads, and 
so did their children and their children's children. More 
usually they continued to move. By ox-cart they moved, by 
paddle-boat, or on foot: first to Ohio or Tennessee, then to 
Wisconsin or Kansas, then to Dakota or Oklahoma, They 
kept moving westward, always believing 

"When weVe wood and prairie land 

Won by our toil, 

Well reign like kings in fairy-land, 
Lords of the soil." 

But the Machine kept catching up with them. The Ma- 
chine kept pushing them out. Even four generations later 
many of their descendants were still being routed by that 
nemesis. Having been "tractored out" of their forty acres in 
Dakota or Oklahoma, they moved on then to Oregon or 
California. But by that time the futility of their flight was 
plain, for the only way they could try to escape from the 
Machine then was in it. They made that final trek in old 
automobiles 1 

That, however, is a story for later. Right now our con- 
cern is with what happened in Great Britain when so many 
peasants began to be driven from the manors. Only the 
more fortunate were able to go to America. The rest, lacking 
the means or the will, simply wandered to the nearest town. 
They put their belongings on their backs, took their young 
'uns by the hand, and tramped off to find jobs in the fac- 


tories. Thousands did that, tens and hundreds of thousands: 
"bewildered clods, ragged and hungry, who came begging for 
jobs at any wage. 

And the factory-owners were happy. They no longer cared 
much at least, not very much if Parliament passed laws 
against child-labor. They could get more than enough adult- 
labor now at minimum pay. 

Even the cottage craftsmen began to beg for jobs in the 
factories. They had put up a stiff fight until now. In many 
localities they had actually banded together and tried to 
destroy the mills. Even now tens of thousands of them were 
still struggling to hold out. It meant they had to go hungry 
and bury themselves in debt, for they could not possibly 
compete with the power-plants. The most diligent artisan 
working at home could not produce nearly so much as any 
child in a factory. True, the artisan's product was finer in 
quality ; but that did not help. The great demand now was 
for cheapness, not quality. 

Nevertheless many artisans continued to cling to their 
spinning-wheels and hand-looms. In most instances their 
earnings were actually less than they could have received 
in the mills, but they felt they were compensated in other 
ways. A man who worked in his own home could sing at his 
work if he felt like singing, or knock off in the middle of the 
day and hoe turnips or go fishing. A man who worked in his 
own home was his own master more or less. He was free 
in a way. 

So there were many in the land who stubbornly struggled 
to carry on under the old "domestic" system. But they be- 
came fewer year by year. Labor without j oy was bad ; but 
labor without bread was worse. In at least the textile indus- 
try it was already plain that the independent artisan was 


HE independent artisan was 
doomed. He went down first in the 
textile industry, and then in every 
other that lent itself to large-scale 
mechanization. If he could not get 
hold of capital and make himself a 
master, he had in most instances 
only one alternative: let himself 
be made a slave. 
But not a docile slave. He drew the line there. He and his 
kind were not savages who had been trapped in African 



jungles and dragged in chains to another world. They were 
Christian Britishers living in their own homeland. From 
childhood they had been taught to sing, "Britons never, 
never, never shall be slaves!" And, foolish as* it may have 
been of them, they took that boast literally. Therefore, no 
sooner did they begin to feel the yoke around their necks 
than some of them started to balk. 

At first they had a very effective way of balking, for 
though driven like slaves, they were not actually chattel* 
They still had the right to quit their jobs. True, this was 
not much of a right, since if they quit they starved. But 
and herein they had seen their one salvation if enough of 
them in any factory got together and quit at the same time, 
their employer faced ruin. If they went on strike indeed, if 
they merely combined and threatened to do so they still 
had some chance of redeeming themselves. 

So they did combine and threaten to strike. The movement 
started even before the close of the Eighteenth Century, and 
at first the masters paid it little heed. Some even relished 
the unrest so long as it broke out in the mills of their 
competitors. Eventually, however, they learnt better. It be- 
came clear to them that their hirelings had laid hold of an 
exceedingly lethal weapon. Whereupon they ran to Parlia- 
ment for help. 

They got it. Parliament was controlled then by the landed 
aristocrats, and these as a class had little love for the up- 
start industrialists. Nevertheless, as between the latter and 
the common workers, they knew well how to side. (The French 
Revolution had just shown them what could happen when 
the rabble got out of hand.) The lawmakers hastily decreed 
(1799) that henceforth any workman who conspired with 
any other workman to extort an increase of wages, or a de- 
crease in hours, was liable to three months in jail! Further, 


if any workman so much as attended a meeting called for 
the purpose of plotting such extortion, or if he urged any 
other workman to attend such a meeting, or if he gave aid 
to the family of any worker convicted for attending such a 
meeting, or if ... or if ... then he was likewise liable to 
three months in jail! 

That attended to. Parliament heaved a sigh and laid down 
its pen. It felt that it had done its duty. The workers had 
been, deprived of the one weapon still in their hands, and 
now all seemed safe. 

But all was not safe, for all was not well. The strikes 
might cease, but the grievances remained. Want and squalor 
and disease and resentment were still unmitigated in the 
nether-world of the poor. Indeed, with each year, almost 
with each day, these evils increased. Conditions had been 
bad enough formerly. Wages had been so low that in some 
places James Watt tells us this the workers had actually 
stolen the grease out of the engines and used it for food. 
Yet now the lot of the toilers was more grievous than ever. 

There were some even in the upper-world of the rich who 
saw this. One was a poet by the name of Shelley, who wrote 
brave verses counseling the poor to 

"Shake your chains to earth like dew . . . 
Ye are many they are few." 

Several other poets of the day most notably Byron and 
Keats wrote verses in somewhat the same vein. But since 
most of the poor were illiterate, and the rest were unliterary, 
only fine ladies read those poems. That did not help much. 
Similarly there were certain radical journalists and ec- 
centric philosophers who espoused the cause of the lowly. 


But their words, too, were largely wasted on the drawing- 
room air. 

For the rest, a small number of intensely religious folk 
became wrought up over the situation. They realized only 
part of what was happening, but that part was enough. 
They saw that the masses were becoming debauched. The 
favorite potion down in the nether-world had ceased to be 
good, full-bodied ale. It was not even beer. What the poor 
craved most now was gin. The stuff was sheer poison to mind 
and body alike, yet they gulped down all they could get 
of it. 

The masses were becoming debauched and depraved. No 
longer did they seek relaxation in dancing on the green. Now 
they spent their every idle moment in reeking public-houses. 
No longer could they be entertained by innocent Punch-and- 
Judy shows, or tumbling bears, or wandering jugglers. They 
preferred to watch what were called "up-and-down fights. 5 ' 
Two champions would square off on a cindery lot, or right 
in the middle of the street, and maul, gouge, kick, and 
throttle each other until one lay numb on the ground. This 
was no new sport; but in former times it had been indulged 
in only at the annual fairs. Now such combats were everyday 
occurrences. So also were vicious wife-beatings, child-flog- 
gings, and sudden, inexplicable mob riots. It was as though 
some evil spell were creeping over the laboring-class, a dark 
rage that had to vent itself in savagery and murder. 

All this was very appalling to the more righteous folk 
up above, and eventually it stirred some of them to action. 
Curiously, however, these saw no link between depravity and 
deprivation. For example, there was a great and good man 
named William Wilberforce, who devoted most of his adult 
life to grieving over the lot of the down-trodden. Yet when 
he was a member of Parliament in 1799 he was among the 


most eloquent supporters of the bill which made it a crime 
for workers to strike. 

Mr. Wilberf orce was typical of those pious uplifters. On 
the one hand, they did very fervently want to help the poor. 
On the other, they just as fervently did not want the poor 
to help themselves. Possibly that was because these uplifters 
were holy folk. Believing that the Lord would provide, and 
knowing that they themselves were peculiarly close to the 
Lord, they felt it should be left to them to hand out the pro- 

They did hand them out. They distributed bread on occa- 
sion, and also fuel and warm clothing. These, however, were 
in their own eyes the least of their benevolences. Far more 
precious, they believed, were the spiritual bounties which 
they were in a position to give away. Their real mission, they 
felt, was to restore the lowly to the light. Not to the sun- 
light, of course; no, to the Light of God. Bring the poor 
back to religion, they cried, and all would be well. The poor 
would then turn to prayer for solace, and to virtuous deeds 
for refreshment. They would become friendly, sober, and 
docile. In a word, they would be saved and made safe. 

Thus argued those holy uplifters. And they did more than 
argue; they went to work. Mr. Wilberf orce set up head- 
quarters at his fine home in Claphani, and began to gather 
funds with which to purchase Bibles, tracts, and hymn books. 
Then, arming his cohorts with these weapons, he sent them 
forth to do battle. 

Most of the warriors were high-minded spinsters, and it 
must be recorded that they did do battle most valiantly. 
With hearts full of love but jaws set a little grimly they 
dared to venture into the toughest slums. They organized 
Sunday schools, prayer circles, sewing guilds-, and refined 
entertainments. It took courage to attempt such tasks, and 


angelic patience to persist in them. The good ladies met with 
surliness from the workers and rage on the part of the 
masters. Often even the local curates were hostile. But, de- 
spite all rebuffs, they persevered. They scolded gamblers, 
pleaded with drunkards, wrestled with atheists, and drove 
harlots out of town. They were like so many godly gadflies 
in the dark stables where the poor were penned. 

Nevertheless they did accomplish some good. The milk of 
human kindness may have been a little sour in many of those 
spinsters, but in the circumstances even sour milk was a 
boon. For one thing, they did dispense a certain amount of 
charity. For another, they taught a number of their charges 
how to read. For a third, they helped to keep at least a few 
of the rich from completely forgetting that the poor were 
still human beings. These may have been sadly inadequate 
benevolences ; yet they were better than none. In the light of 
subsequent history they might even be ranked as important. 
They were the seeds which eventually flowered into three re- 
markable institutions: Organized Philanthropy, Mass Edu- 
cation, and the Social Conscience. 

Yes, those missionaries did do some good. 

However, many years had to pass before the seeds they 
planted could begin to burgeon. In part that was because 
the seeds were never deliberately planted ; they were dropped 
by accident. To make matters worse, for a long time the 
seeds were poorly watered. The vast majority of the rich 
refused to interest themselves in the nether-world of the 
poor. They were hardly aware of its very existence. This 
was not true, of course, of the actual industrialists. Most 
of these were still small fellows who lived right next door 
to their factories, and they could hardly help knowing the 
conditions in the slums. Nevertheless, except in rare in- 


stances, they made no effort to relieve those conditions. They 
had more urgent things on their minds. 

As for the rest of the rich, these seldom came within miles 
of the slums. Even many who drew their main revenues from 
those areas, the lordly owners of the coal-measures and the 
knighted shareholders in the mills, even they and especially 
their wives stayed away from them. They preferred to live 
in the fashionable districts of London, or on fine estates in 
the counties as yet unspoilt. If, on occasion, some business 
necessity did drag them to the factory sites, they drew the 
carriage curtains while traversing the alleyways, and held 
handkerchiefs to their nostrils. 

Even so, they could not help hearing rumor of what life 
was like among the poor. The reports, however, were usually 
of so offensive a nature that they simply refused to believe 
them. Or else they shrugged their shoulders. They told them- 
selves it was plainly God's will that the poor should be poor. 
What was more, such was His will, they told themselves, 
only because He loved the poor. Contemporary professors of 
moral philosophy had proved that quite conclusively. 

For example, there was the Reverend Dr. William Paley, 
of the University of Cambridge: he had written what 
amounted to a treatise to show that poverty was really a 
privilege. The rich, he had argued, could afford to indulge 
their every whim; therefore their appetites were prone to be 
jaded. But the poor were always in need; therefore they 
were able to get a thrill out of the least little windfall. 
Again, the rich did not have to labor; therefore they could 
never know the full joy of rest. The poor, on the other hand, 
had to work hard all day long; therefore when night came 
they could fall on their beds and really relax. Still again, the 
rich had to worry about keeping up appearances. They had 
to dress in the fashion, run big establishments, send their 


sons to select schools, provide their daughters with seductive 
dowries. Also they had to contribute to charity. The poor, 
however, were burdened with no such responsibilities. All 
they had to do was stay alive. Everything considered, there- 
fore, the rich were positively to be pitied. It was the poor 
who were the lucky ones. 

That was one type of argument. In a sense it served the 
gentry as their first line of defense against any pricks of 
conscience. To be safe, they had a second line. This con- 
sisted of the blunt assertion that poverty, whether good or 
bad, was unavoidable. Had not God Himself declared through 
Moses that "the poor shall never cease out of the land"? 
Moreover, had not recent scientific research furnished sta- 
tistical evidence to much the same effect? The Reverend Mr. 
Malthus in his erudite Essay on the Principle of Population 
had just proved at least, so it was generally believed that 
the very Laws of Nature ordained that part of the popula- 
tion must be eternally in a state of want. 

Actually Malthus had proved nothing of the sort; nor 
had he tried to do so. He was a kindly man with a fine scien- 
tific bent and a stout moral purpose. But shallow readers, 
misconstruing his thesis, insisted that it added up to some- 
thing like this : The earth could produce just so much food 
and no more; therefore there could never be enough to eat 
save for just so many people. But since far more than that 
number kept getting born, therefore the excess simply had 
to starve. Poverty was "Nature's medicine." It prevented 
the masses from growing ever more excessive, and thus en- 
abled the classes to go well fed. Q.E.D. ! 

So the rich could feel secure from any qualms. Either 
poverty was a blessing, in which case nothing need be done 
to relieve it; or else it was a curse, in which case nothing 
could be done. 


EVERTHELESS the rich did have 
their worries, plenty of them fc 
Roughly, the rich were of two, 
kinds, the old and the new; and 
both worried themselves, if not 
thin, at least gray. The chief bane 
of the old rich was that they 
were being crowded by the new. 
Formerly the prime source of 
wealth had been land. Even the merchant-pirates, once they 

had grown to be merchant-princes, had invariably plowed 



their gains into land. But since there was a limit to the 
amount of land in the realm, there had always been a limit 
to the number who could be wealthy. That neat arrange- 
ment, however, was crumbling now, for wealth had acquired 
a third dimension. Industrialism had created a rival source 
of riches in machinery, and opportunity was therefore no 
longer bounded by the horizon. The sky had become the 
limit, and that meant more room on top. 

So now there was a rush to get on top. Thousands of 
creatures from the lower ranks were heaving, shoving, claw- 
ing their way upward. The best of them were no doubt honest 
enough, but only according to their lights and their lights, 
being those of smoky milltowns, were not very bright. As 
for the rest, they were just ruffians. Most of them were hard- 
bitten fellows with foxy wits and tigerish wills who wasted 
no time on gentlemanly scruples. They knew what they 
wanted and went after it. Ruthlessly, remorselessly, they 
went after what they wanted. If anyone dared to stand in 
their way, they knocked him down and walked on his face. 

Not all of the poor were crushed by industrialism. A num- 
ber managed to clamber up the sides of the smoke-belching 
juggernaut, and these rode high, wide, and handsome. They 
grew rich and began to act like rajahs. They did not need 
to be told that the words "rich'* and "rajah" and even 
"regal" came from the same root ; they seemed to smell it 
out. The moment they got hold of what they called "t* 
brass," that moment they started to act brazen. They 
learnt to strut, look down their noses, and clear their throats 
with a sound like thunder for they had made themselves 
high and mighty folk. 

All of which was very trying to those who had been "born 
high and mighty. 


But the new rich too had their worries. The proof is this : 
no matter how rich the newly rich grew., they kept struggling 
to get richer. Relatively few in those early days thought to 
build themselves palaces in which to make merry. Instead 
they built more factories in order to make more money. 
They kept saving and investing so as to get more savings to 
invest. They had their cake but refused to eat It because 
they felt they must acquire more cake not to eat. 

Foolish? Not at all. There was sound reason for such con- 
duct. These new-rich people could never feel completely 
secure. Their wealth was invested in business, and business, 
they had discovered, had its chronic ups and downs. Today 
they might be rolling in wealth, and tomorrow be flounder- 
ing in debt. Therefore they had to keep worrying about the 
future. They had to keep saving for a rainy day even if 
that meant living in a constant drizzle. 

Now, in one way this persistent thrift was highly benefi- 
cent. Because the capitalists were literally a "savvng" rem- 
nant, all mankind was to some extent redeemed. Those cap- 
italists were driven to build more and more factories, and 
thus they enriched the world with more and more goods. And 
the world needed goods. There had never been enough simple 
necessities to go around, let alone pleasant comforts. At 
last, however, that lack was on its way to being filled. A well 
had been discovered which could provide waters of plenty 
for the entire land, the entire earth. So it was good that 
those who rushed to take possession of the well were impelled 
to pump with all their might. Without plenty there could 
never be health or joy or even common decency for the bulk 
of humankind. 

But though good, the arrangement was not perfect. Un- 
fortunately, the pumpers pumped with more vigor than wis- 


dom. This was only natural, since each man felt constrained 
to get all the water he could out of his own spout. However, 
the combined flood coming from so many spouts could not 
always run off smoothly. The result? Every once in a while 
the waters backed up and most of the pumpers got soaked. 

No, the arrangement was very far from perfect. Thanks 
to the new machinery, it was possible now to produce lots of 
goods very cheaply. Once produced, however, the goods had 
to be sold. But to whom? Certainly not to the rich. Flimsy 
calico and coarse shoddy were no fit merchandise for such 
folk ; nor were tin forks and spoons, or inch-thick mugs and 
platters. The rich might buy a little of such stuff for their 
servants, but for themselves they preferred hand-made goods. 
These were more painstakingly contrived, more durable, and 
usually more beautiful. In any case, they were less common, 
and therefore more impressive. 

Obviously, therefore, most of the factory-products had to 
be sold to the poor. But just as obviously they could not be 
sold to the poor at home. In the first place, these lacked the 
price. The bulk of their wretched wages had to go for food 
and lodging. In the second place, even had they had the 
price, they would not have cared to buy all that was being 
turned out. The new industrialism was too specialized and 
unbalanced. For the most part its output was confined to 
textiles and ironware. Therefore there simply had to be a 
surplus of certain goods, and that surplus simply had to be 
sold abroad. 

It was. Agents were sent out to forage for markets, and 
before long England's foreign trade began to boom. Here, 
for example, are the round figures for her annual export of 
cotton goods: 


1780 $ 2,000,000 

1790 8,000,000 

1800 27,000,000 

1830 86,000,000 

Within little more than a generation the word "Manchester" 
became the hall-mark of cheap merchandise all around the 

But there was one bedeviling element in this foreign trade : 
it was chronically unstable. One year the demand for goods 
seemed insatiable, and the next it was gone. Here a war 
would suddenly destroy a market, there a famine, in a third 
place a plague. Therefore there could be no steady pros- 
perity at the source of supply. Now the British mills were 
running day and night, and now they stood idle. That was 
very disturbing. 

The situation had been different in former times, because 
making and selling had then been confined largely to local 
markets. Merchandising had been carried on from hand to 
mouth, so there had been relatively few hazards. But now 
that the hand was at such a distance from the mouth, any- 
thing could happen and usually did. 

There was another factor. In earlier days most of those 
who did the making and selling belonged to guilds. Each 
tradesman submitted to restrictions, and this insured a cer- 
tain amount of common security. The guilds may have stulti- 
fied progress, but they did at least prevent anarchy. All 
that, however, was changed now. In this new age the mer- 
chants and manufacturers were completely on their own. 
The one law to which they subscribed was "Each for himself 
and the devil take the hindmost," This was called the Com- 
petitive System, but in effect it was not a system at all. It 
was a chaos which showed promise or threat of some day 


becoming congealed. In the meantime, though savagely stim- 
ulating, it was almost as savagely confusing. 

Here is an example of what could and did happen. In 
1808 the British, having invaded Spain to drive out Napo- 
leon, took occasion incidentally to extort a treaty which 
opened up Spanish America to their trade. This was prac- 
tically a virgin market, and when the British go-getters 
learnt it was theirs for the raping, they fairly whooped for 
joy. Had they taken time to make inquiries, they might have 
been less jubilant. They would have discovered that South 
America was still largely a jungle, and therefore hardly 
nubile as a market. But those go-getters did not dare take 
time. Each of them feared that his rivals would go and get 
ahead of him. So all of them pounced together. A horde of 
traders loaded ships to the gunwales and set off at once for 

It was farcical. Within the space of a few weeks more cot- 
ton goods were dumped in that port than the entire region 
had consumed in the preceding twenty years. Huge bales 
of fancy glassware arrived, giant crates of knickknacks 
and Ebys. Even ice-skates were shipped out in the excite- 
ment ! 

The final outcome, of course, was ruin. The adventure 
ruined the merchants who had chartered the vessels, ruined 
the manufacturers who had produced the wares, and ruined 
the bankers who had advanced the funds. There was a small 
panic when word of the fiasco got back to England. Banks in 
London slammed their doors, and mills in Manchester pad- 
locked their gates. Only the churches and the grog-shops 
found much need to stay open. 

That sort of thing happened over and over again. Now 
there would be a crazy boom, and now a sickening collapse. 


First the go-getters would lose their heads, then they would 
lose their shirts. And nothing, it seemed, could be done about 
it. The situation might have been less hopeless had these 
ups and downs been due entirely to stupid blundering on the 
part of individuals. But they were not. Almost from the 
start the severest fluctuations were caused by a factor for 
which not individuals but all society was to blame. 

That factor was war. For more than twenty years, from 
1792 to 1815, there was virtually incessant fighting in Eu- 
rope; and during all those years the British mills reacted 
like so many sweat glands to a fever. When the fighting was 
intense, the mills worked day and night; when it slackened, 
they fell idle. Boom and slump, boom and slump : so it went 
for two mad decades. Until at last there came the mightiest 
boom of all, and then prostration. 

It was late in the year 1812 that this climacteric boom 
began. Napoleon had finally taken one gamble too many : he 
had dared to invade Russia. That gave his enemies their 
chance. They waited until hunger, cold, and typhus wrecked 
his army, and then they closed in for the kill. Russia, Prus- 
sia, Sweden, and Austria rushed troops into the field. So did 
England, Bavaria, Holland, and Denmark. And the wheels 
of British industry began to whirl as never before. It was 
their task to produce equipment for all those armies. (And 
also this must be whispered for Napoleon's!) They had 
to pour out shot and cannon, and muskets, sabers, flints, 
and medals. They had to weave bunting for flags, shoddy for 
uniforms, and cotton for shrouds. 

That meant profits for the owners of those wheels. War 
was a bonanza for them. All they could produce they could 
sell, and all they sold brought them profit. So they herded 
more and more infants into more and more factories to turn 
out more and more goods to be shot away in more and more 


battles. None stopped to ask what might happen when the 
shooting ceased. None dared. It would have been foolish 
why look a war horse in the mouth? Besides, it would have 
been unpatriotic. 

So all who could crowd their way to the well of plenty 
proceeded to pump and pump and pump. And they made 
money. An inquisitive London magistrate named Patrick 
Colquhoun tried to find out just how much money some peo- 
ple were making in that day, and this is what he discovered. 
In 1814 the average cash income of a worker's family was 
$55 for the entire year! But the income of those who worked 
the workers he counted 400,000 such, including the land- 
lords was from $1,000 to $20,000 ! 

That estimate, to be sure, was merely a wild guess, but 
since we lack a tamer one, we can ill afford to reject it. Even 
if we do, we must still concede that the warring must have 
brought profit to some people in England. For thirty months 
it certainly kept enriching the businessmen. And then 



war ended in 1815. Napoleon 
was felled never to rise again, and 
there was peace at last. But not 
joy. Not for the British business- 
men, at least. No, to them peace 
brought only gloom. Even the 
most powerful among them were 
plunged into gloom. The weaker 
ones writhed .in terror. They had 
borrowed right and left to build mills and install machinery, 
and now they were caught. Poor small fry, they had been 
fried good. 




Yet theirs was not the harshest agony. That was reserved 
for the laborers. When peace pricked the industrial boom ? 
the capitalists were merely out of luck. But the laborers 
suffered more, for they were out of work. 

This was something new. Wars had always brought hard 
times in their wake; so had droughts, floods, pestilences, 
and other "acts of God/ 9 In the past, however, the poor had 
been able somehow to take care of themselves during such 
crises. They had had their own cottages to give them shelter, 
and their tiny fields and the surrounding forests to yield 
them food. But it was different in 1816. By that time hun- 
dreds of thousands of the poor were housed in towns where 
they subsisted entirely off industry. Once industry foundered, 
they were left stranded. Lacking money to pay the rent, they 
were put out on the streets. Being far from woods in which 
to pick berries or poach, they could do nothing but starve. 

That spelled trouble, especially after the demobilized sol- 
diers were added to the down-and-out mob. "Hard times 
brought hard crimes. 35 The more the skies of England 
emptied of smoke, the blacker they grew with hate. The 
tougher fellows started to riot in the slums and loot in the 
countryside. Even the timid took to throwing rocks at pass- 
ing carriages. The unrest grew so widespread that the rich 
began to take fright. It might have been better had they 
taken thought, but that apparently was beyond them. In- 
stead of taking thought they reached for a club. (Did not 
tHoly Writ declare : "A whip for the horse, a bridle for the 
jass, and a rod for the backs of fools"?) The Government 
suppressed the right of free speech, suspended the law of 
Habeas Corpus, organized a force of police spies, and called 
out the militia. 

It worked. Cowed by the show of force, the poor slunk 
back into their kennels. What else could they do? They had 


been reared to believe that only their betters were privileged 
to revolt. Besides, they were unarmed and unorganized. 

That, however, did not end the unrest. Afraid to bite, 
forbidden even to bark, the masses took to whimpering. 
They whimpered so agonizingly that at last the rulers were 
driven to relent a little. In I81T Parliament appointed a 
"select committee" to inquire into ways and means of throw- 
ing the poor a bone. 

And thereupon something very strange occurred. A cer- 
tain industrialist by the name of Robert Owen arose and 
bluntly declared that a bone would not be enough. This Mr. 
Owen, a homely young Welshman with a large nose and 
gentle eyes, was already somewhat of a character in Great 
Britain. Though himself a most prosperous employer, his 
sympathies had always been with the workers. In this, it 
must be said, he was not unique. Nevertheless he was cer- 
tainly peculiar. 

Owen's whole career had been peculiar. He had left home 
at the age of ten to make his way in the world, and before 
he was twenty he had already established himself as a "cot- 
ton lord" in Manchester. By the time he was twenty-six, he 
and a group of partners were able to raise $300,000 to buy 
one of the largest mills in Great Britain. It was situated at 
New Lanark, near Glasgow, and employed some 2,000 work- 
ers, of whom 500 were apprenticed waifs. Conditions in the 
settlement were what one might expect. The millhands were 
the terror of the countryside, always stealing, getting drunk, 
and starting bloody brawls. Their bodies were filthy, their 
minds were dull, and their spirits were morose and debauched. 
Typical miUf oik. 

But Robert Owen was not a typical .millowner. True, he 
was monstrously energetic, always hustling, bustling, and 
pushing ahead. At the same time, however, he was a man ol 


some enlightenment. He had received very little education 
as a child and that, characteristically, in a religious school 
conducted by pious spinsters but he had since done a good 
deal of reading and thinking. Among other things, he had 
come to the conclusion that human beings behaved as they 
did not because of their nature but their nurture. If, for 
example, millf oik were prevailingly vicious, it was not at all 
because they were born vicious. No, said this Mr. Owen, it 
was because they lived in a vicious environment. 

No sooner, therefore, did he take over the control of New 
Lanark than he set out to create a better environment for 
his workers. He could do only little to increase wages or 
reduce hours his partners drew the line at that but he 
was able to accomplish much in other directions. He reno- 
vated the mills, improved the housing, cleaned up the village 
streets, and opened a store where sound merchandise was 
sold practically at cost. Most important of all, he estab- 
lished a school. It was an extraordinary school because, 
though intended for the children of workers, it lacked all 
taint of snivelling piety. The one aim of the instruction was 
to develop keen and happy minds in clean and healthy bodies. 
The pupils were taught not alone how to read and write, but 
also how to play and dance and get on together. And, in 
part through the pupils, Owen tried to influence the parents. 
He sought to make the latter take an interest in their work 
and develop a pride in themselves. 

On the face of it, the whole scheme was preposterous. 
Nevertheless it worked. Little by little Owen got his mill- 
hands to slough off their brutish ways and behave like decent 
citizens. What was even more amazing, his efforts paid. The 
more he spent on what his partners considered mad extrava- 
gances, the handsomer were the dividends he produced. 


Within ten years Owen was able to pay back the entire orig- 
inal cost of the mills, plus interest at five per cent. 

Rumor of the marvel spread far and wide, and many im- 
portant people journeyed to New Lanark to see the place 
for themselves. One was no less a personage than the Grand 
Duke Nicholas, later Tsar of Russia; and he, like the rest, 
went away greatly bewildered. When Owen published a book 
on his educational theories in 1813, Napoleon himself found 
time to read it and scribble favorable comments in the mar- 
gins. John Quincy Adams, then the American ambassador 
in London, sent copies of that book to the governors of all 
the states in the Union. "Mr. Owen the Philanthropist 55 
grew to be a world figure. Despite his humble origin and pe- 
culiar ideas, even dukes and cabinet ministers, even the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, deigned to acknowledge his acquaint- 
ance. Consequently, when he raised his voice during the crisis 
of 1817, all Britain stopped to listen. 

And this is what the country heard. Throwing the poor 
a bone, said Owen, would never do. At best it might provide 
momentary relief ; but this crisis called for a permanent 
cure. Otherwise pauperism would grow worse and worse. It 
would spread until the whole land became one vast poor- 
house. Why? Because more goods could now be produced 
with less human labor. This development, though calculated 
to be a boon, was proving to be a calamity. Thousands upon 
thousands of willing workers were losing their jobs. What 
was to become of them? They could hardly be asked to 
crawl off into a corner and die. Nor could they very well 
be kept alive by the rest of the population. Plainly there 
was only one solution: those multitudes would have to be 
restored to gainful labor. 

That was Owen's basic contention. Something very grave 


had gone wrong, and it would take more than mere wishing 
to set it right again. Machinery had thrown part of the 
economic system out of kilter, and unless society imme- 
diately adjusted that part, the whole system would surely 
go to pieces. 

But how was this adjustment to be made? Obviously not 
by abolishing machinery. The only way out was to go for- 
ward. And Owen thought he knew how. He had a Plan. Said 
he: Collect all the unemployed in small colonies, give them 
sufficient land and mechanical equipment, and then leave 
them to provide for their own needs. Such a scheme might 
sound fantastic; but, Owen insisted, he had thought it all 
out, and he was sure it would work. (He was a very self- 
confident man.) The essential thing, said he, was to let the 
colonies be run as collective enterprises. The members must 
work side by side in the fields and shops, live together in 
one group of buildings, eat at a common table, and share 
as equals in all privileges as well as duties. This would in- 
sure a minimum of waste, a maximum of cooperation, and an 
optimum of happiness. True, no member would be able to 
wax rich; but neither would any be reduced to beggary. 
Indeed, life would become so idyllic in those settlements for 
the unemployed, that before long even the employed would 
want to join them. And not merely in Great Britain, but all 
over the earth. Whereupon such colonies would spring up 
everywhere, and the whole earth would be turned into one 
vast cooperative paradise ! 

That, in brief, was Robert Owen's Plan. He presented It 
first to the "select committee" appointed by Parliament. 
Then he hired a hall in London and announced it to the 
world. The result was sensational. Owen's picture of the 
Future, a smile on its dimpled cheeks and a ribbon in its 
golden hair, was enough to soften even the toughest-headed 


folk. The leading newspapers editorialized on his idea, high 
clerics preached on it, and fine gentlemen argued about it 
over their port. The economic depression had already lasted 
many months, and even the very rich were getting a bit 
white around the gills. They were in a mood to listen to 
almost any man with a plan for recovery and Robert Owen 
was not just any man. Had he not amassed a fortune? There- 
fore, despite their prejudices, even the roundest-bellied peo- 
ple were tempted to take him seriously. For a while there 
were many who considered him almost a Messiah. 

But only for a while. Then, almost overnight, he was 
metamorphosed into a fiend. The fault was in part his own. 
He allowed himself to be dragged into a squabble with the 
people who until then had been the chief pleaders for the 
poor. These were the pietists, and they wanted to know 
where God came into Owen's utopia. The man had given 
elaborate specifications for the building of model tenements 
in his colonies and for the building of nurseries, schools, 
libraries, recreation halls; but he had not even mentioned 
churches. What did he mean by that? 

Owen was only too eager to tell them. He actually hired 
a hall again, so as to be able to tell them out loud. Religion, 
he roared, did not figure at all in his "villages of coopera- 
tion." Moreover, he'd be damned before he'd ever let it be 
smuggled into them. Said he: 

"My friends, I tell you that the fundamental notions of every 
religion have made man ... a weak, imbecile animal, a furious 
bigot, a fanatic, a miserable hypocrite. And should these qualities 
be carried into Paradise itself, a Paradise would no longer be 

That finished him with the pietists. It helped to finish 
him with all other respectable people. These discovered that 


he was a heretic not alone about God, but also about mar- 
riage and even money. He seemed bent on standing the world 
on its head and shaking out all its dearest traditions. They 
decided he must be mad. 

Nevertheless Owen carried on. Failing to win the support 
of the rich, he sought it from the poor and got it, after 
a fashion. Eventually his movement acquired a name, and it 
was a very good one. What made it good was the directness 
with which it pointed to the crucial belief underlying all of 
his utopian fantasies. According to that belief, the sole 
way to end the woes of the world was through social rather 
than individual action. Therefore his movement came to be 
called "Socialism." 

To most people in Owen's day, whether rich or poor, the 
entire scheme seemed not merely absurd but even wicked. 
They were sure, however, that it would never be taken se- 
riously, so they let him go on preaching it. 

He did. For more than forty years he continued to button- 
hole statesmen and lecture to workmen in behalf of his idyl- 
lic "Socialism. 5 * 

Toward the last, however, even he seems to have despaired 
of it a little. At the age of eighty-two he took up spiritual- 


OBERT OWEN failed and that 
was only natural. Even, had he 
been less indiscreet, or even had 
his plan been less unworkable, he 
would still have had to fail. The 
world was not prepared for a man 
of his sort, nor for a plan of any 
sort at all. 

By the world I mean, of course, 
those people who had already begun to take possession of 

it: the up-and-coming fellows, the go-getters, the business- 



men. In their judgment and it was not altogether wrong 
Owen was daft. True, there had been a moment when they 
had thought otherwise. The prolonged slump after 1815 had 
so shaken their nerves that they had almost accepted Owen's 
prophecy that business never would recover. But then they 
had got hold of themselves. Clenching their fists and gritting 
their jaws, they had growled: Times must get better ! 

And, lo, times did get better! No one knew why; it just 
happened. Gradually the old markets reopened on the Con- 
tinent, and new ones were pried open in China and the 
Americas. The demand for manufactured goods reasserted 
itself, and the wheels of British industry began to turn 
again. They turned slowly at first, then faster, faster. By 
1822 they were whirring at top speed once more. New fac- 
tories had to be erected then, and deeper shafts sunk into 
the mines. More ships had to be built to fetch and carry 
across the seas. It was almost another boom. 

Owen had absolutely no chance after that. All his theoriz- 
ing had been based on the premise that the system of "dog 
eat dog" was done for. Machinery, he believed, had made 
the fangs of the top dogs too sharp. But, once the post-war 
crisis wore itself out, that system began to function better 
than ever. At least, so it seemed to those who remained the 
top dogs. 

So they laughed at Owen and his socialism. Now they 
were surer than ever that individualism was the one way of 
salvation. Why draw up artificial plans for economic life? 
Wasn't a natural plan already in existence? Of course! It 
had been established by the very Architect of the Universe, 
and was operating in ways as sure as they were beneficent. 
Anyone could see that if only he cared to look. 

Those businessmen really believed that. Faith in the divine 
Tightness of individualism became a deep religion with them. 


Several scholarly books had already appeared which seemed 
to validate such a religion, and more were being written day 
by day. By curious coincidence, the first of those books ap- 
peared in 1776, the very year James Watt installed his first 
steam-engine. It was the handiwork of another Scotsman, a 
sweet, high-minded professor of moral philosophy named 
Adam Smith, and it bore the title, The Wealth of Nations. 
A distinguished company of economists had since arisen to 
amplify Adam Smith's ideas, and between them, they had 
created a complete apology for capitalism. True, that had 
not been their intention. They had set out to develop a 
science of economics, and in a tentative way they had suc- 
ceeded. But, as in the case of Malthus himself one of that 
company their purpose was misunderstood, and most of 
their findings were misapplied. Instead of functioning as a 
science, their whole enterprise was made to serve as a the- 
ology. It came to be called "Manchesterism," a very apt 
name, for in the popular understanding it was a doctrine 
which justified in principle what the Manchester millowners 
were doing in' practice. 

To be sure, the majority of those millowners did not give 
a tuppenny-damn whether their behavior was justifiable or 
no. All they cared was that it paid. But their behavior met 
with considerable opposition, not merely from sundry cranks 
who yearned for socialism, but far more redoubtably from 
the landed aristocrats, most of whom had a nostalgia for 
feudalism. It was therefore very necessary for the business- 
men to show that capitalism was right as a matter of prin- 
ciple. They had to prove that in cleaving to it they were 
doing not alone well for themselves, but also good for 
all mankind. They were very glad, therefore, that scholars 
of unimpeachable integrity provided arguments which could 
be made to seem to offer such proof. 


It was unfair, of course, and certain of the scholars, most 
notably the great John Stuart Mill, made loud protest. But 
the businessmen refused to listen. The latter insisted that 
though thinkers had evolved the theory of Manchesterism, 
only doers could properly appreciate it. These might miss 
some of its fine points, but not the really telling ones. And, 
in their own estimate, the most telling of all was this : that 
Manchesterism was not just a theory, but a gospel. 

The crux of the gospel was the comforting doctrine that 
capitalism was right. Why? Because it conformed to the 
"Laws of Nature." The proof was simple. The mainspring 
of capitalism was "enlightened self-interest" in plain talk, 
greed. And was not greed altogether instinctive in human 
nature? Again, the balance-wheel of the system was competi- 
tion. And was not competition inherent in all animal nature? 
Therefore there was nothing to worry about. The Cosmic 
Clockmaker had apparently set everything in order, and it 
was left for man merely to let the wheels grind. If each 
individual would act "naturally" in other words, be as 
greedy and competitive as possible then all humanity would 
be better off. For, as the learned economists had shown, there 
were "iron laws" functioning in economics no less than in 
physics and chemistry. There was, for example, a law equal- 
izing supply and demand, another regulating rents, a third 
controlling wages. And any attempt on the part of mortals 
to interfere with these "iron laws" was fated inexorably to 
cause mischief, and end in failure. Therefore, hands off ! Let 
Nature take its course ! 

An old French phrase became the popular slogan : Laissez- 
faire, which might be vulgarly translated, "Let ? er go!" 
There was no chance, it was said, that anything might go 
too far. Not in the long run, at any rate. The relentless 


pressure of competition would see to that. The employer who 
was too greedy, and tried to underpay his workers, would 
soon find them drifting off to his rivals. The result? Either 
he mended his ways, or he lost his business. Ditto for the 
merchant who sought to overcharge his customers, and for 
the landlord who attempted to mulct his tenants. Competi- 
tion was like gravitation: a Force of Nature. You just 
couldn't beat it. 

True, competition was not yet working with perfect 
smoothness. But this, it was argued, was because it had never 
yet been given a proper chance. Competition was like the 
mills of the gods : it ground slowly, and one had to be patient 
with it. People should not complain because it caused in- 
cidental hardships. That was what it was supposed to do, 
and the more the better in the long run. The Profit System 
was all the sounder because it was a Profit-and-Loss System. 
Bankruptcies, foreclosures, panics, and the like, were a heal- 
ing medicine. They kept purging the business world of the 
reckless and the unfit, and thus served to make such catas- 
trophes less and less possible. Eventually only the most com- 
petent would be left in control, and then all would be lovely. 
There would be steady profits for all the employers, steady 
work for all the employees, and a steady flow of goods for 
all mankind. 

So let >er go ! 

Such, in the common view, was the gospel of Manchester- 
ism, and in time it won the British middle class almost to a 
man. Even the pious became its devotees. These were aware 
that the creed reeked of paganism, but they refused to let 
that repel them. They told themselves that "Nature" was 
but another name for Providence, and the "Cosmic Clock- 


maker" was obviously God. Thus they were able to make a 
vulgarized Manchesterism part and parcel of their own dear 
Christian faith. 

Here, for example, is a quotation from a contemporary 
tract published by the pious Society for the Promotion of 
Christian Knowledge: 

"It is curious to observe how, through the wise and beneficent 
arrangements of Providence, men do the greatest service to the 
public when they are thinking of nothing but their own gain." 

Curious, they called it; but they might also have said 
wonderful. For the spreading belief in the righteousness of 
capitalism was undoubtedly accomplishing wonderful results. 
First of all, it was helping to clear the way so that the 
capitalists might be free to pump with all their might and 
thus it was enabling them to flood the world with merchan- 
dise. By 1830 the noble historian, Lord Macaulay, could 
arise in Parliament and boast with complete truth: "Our 
houses are filled with conveniences which the kings of former 
times might have envied. 55 To be sure, that gentleman was 
referring solely to the houses of the rich. (It is not recorded 
that he ever frequented any others.) But even the poor came 
in for some share of the stream of goods. To quote a less 
renowned writer of the period: "Two centuries ago, not one 
person *in a thousand wore stockings; one century ago not 
one person in five hundred wore them; now not one person 
in a thousand is without them!" And what was true of 
stockings was true also of shirts and shoes, of knives and 
forks, even of books and pens. Capitalism was functioning 
like an over-active gland within the body of industrialism, 
speeding up all the vital processes and causing a veritable 
explosion of progress. 


The effect was revolutionary really. For generations 
there had been brave talk about Liberty, Equality, Fra- 
ternity, and the Right to Happiness; but only now was 
there much chance that those spiritual luxuries might be 
attained. Why? Because only now was mankind beginning to 
be supplied with enough material necessities. So long as 
wealth remained scarce, power was easy to monopolize, and 
tyranny was therefore hard to overthrow. So long as there 
were too few goods to go around, some people were certain 
to grab more than their just share of them, and privilege 
was therefore bound to prevail. So long as means of com- 
munication were slight, provincialism had to survive, and 
that spelled unending strife. And, naturally, so long as tyr- 
anny, privilege, and strife endured, the only right that man- 
kind could conceivably enjoy was one to misery. 

But now it looked as though those hoary evils would have 
to go. The gospel of Manchesterism was against them, and 
no sooner did it take hold than it refused to give them any 
rest. See what happened in Britain. In the past all good 
people there had been expected to "know their place. 55 And 
keep it. They had been classified according to birth, the 
definitely "well-born 55 being on top, the definitely "ill-born 55 
at the bottom, and the rest milling around in between. But 
the new creed thumbed its nose at all that. It insisted that 
what counted was not birth but worth and what a man was 
worth could best be measured by how much money Jie had 
managed to save. Anything else was palpably "unnatural, 55 
and therefore immoral. If a man had made good, he was 
good, no matter what his origin. He belonged wherever he 
could push himself. Manchesterism was absolutely adamant 
on that point, and the result was a surge of social liberation 
in Great Britain. 

There was a surge also of religious liberation. After all, 


If a man had the right to profit as he pleased, logically he 
had also the right to profess as he pleased. He could be a 
Jew., or a Catholic, or even an atheist, and still be a good 
citizen so long as he paid his bills. Before long Parliament 
began to erase every last mark of religious discrimination 
from the law-books. 

But above all there was a surge of political liberation. 
Thus far Britain's government had been largely authori- 
tarian, at least in principle. It had claimed the right to 
direct the entire life of its subjects, regulating not alone 
their comings and goings, but also their takings. In a word, 
it had been essentially feudal. And Manchesterism could not 
stand for that. So its devotees began to clamor that the 
sole duty of the government was to maintain public order, 
not to meddle in private enterprise. It should be a police- 
man, not a nursemaid. The pushing capitalists demanded 
^liberalism" in government by which they meant liberation 
from governmental apron-strings. 

And they got it. 

They did not get it without a struggle, of course. For 
a while it looked as though there might even be bloodshed. 
The believers in authoritarian government, the so-called 
"Tories," started out with one advantage: they were the 
government. That left their opponents, the liberal "Whigs," 
legally helpless. Many a rural borough which had long since 
been depopulated was still sending two members to the House 
of Commons, whereas most of the new industrial towns 
among them Manchester, Birmingham, and Leeds were un- 
able to send any members at all. Consequently most of the 
seats in the Lower House, like all in the Upper, remained in 
the possession of the landed gentlefolk. 

And those gentlefolk refused to give them up. Not for 
nothing had they been dubbed fTories, which was an old Irish 


berm for bandits^ Under provocation they could act quite 
ike bandits. Instead of surrendering their seats, they used 
them, as battlements from which to snipe at the Whigs. 
Whereupon the latter became equally tough. They too de- 
served their nickname, which was originally a Scottish term 
for horse-thieves. Seeing no other way to get what they 
wanted, those Whigs turned around and aroused the masses. 
They started to shout that the Tories were to blame for the 
high price of bread which was true. The Tories were main- 
taining a monstrous tariff on wheat in order to protect their 
interests as agriculturists. Since the Whigs were opposed to 
that tariff, it was easy for them to win the sympathy of the 
common folk. 

Bread riots broke out in one town after another. Castles 
were attacked, jails were demolished, and monuments were 
burnt to the ground. Mobs in the capital went so far as to 
throw rocks at the great Duke of Wellington, then the Prime 

The Tories grew panicky. For more than a generation, 
ever since the great revolution in France, they had lived in 
terror of a mass uprising. They decided it might be wise to 
compromise. One thing was plain: if they, the old rich, joined 
forces with the new, the poor could still be kept where they 
belonged. And that, after all, seemed to be the vital need. 

So at length the landed gentlemen were forced to yield. 
They permitted the passage of a Reform Bill in 1832 which 
gave the urban upstarts a chance to have their full say in 

That meant the beginning of the end of Tory power. The 
Reform Bill did not establish political democracy in Eng- 
land, for even now only moneyed men were allowed to vote. 
But it did at least enfranchise the new industrial plutocracy. 
Once the urban upstarts got the upper hand in the House of 


Commons, they proceeded to break up the old feudal game y 
scatter the stacked cards, and start a new deal. Socially the 
well-born might continue to look down on the self-made. Po- 
litically too they might try to hold themselves aloof. But 
economically they were forced to strike up a partnership. 
Eventually the aristocrats and plutocrats became almost 
equally devoted to laissez-faire. Though their accents con- 
tinued to differ, their voices became one in shouting to the 
very heavens, "Let *er go !" 


O THEY let 5 er go in Great Brit- 
ain, and she went. What had been 
a hard push before 1832, became 
a wild rush after that date. Free 
at last from governmental re- 
straint, the capitalists began to 
drive the industrial juggernaut 
with all the brakes disconnected. 
The pall of grime thickened over 
the blighted valleys of Lancashire. It streaked out in the 
wake of railroads until it enveloped half the other shires. 



Thousands of factories reared their tall, black, ugly throats 
to belch sooty smoke against the sun. Tens of thousands of 
trains uncoiled like long, black ugly snakes, and spat cinders 
all over the landscape. Smoke and cinders spread everywhere. 
They filled the sky, they covered the earth, they fouled the 
streams, they buried the towns. Glasgow began to rival Man- 
chester for noise and squalor. Liverpool, Birmingham, New- 
castle, Nottingham, Sheffield, Bradford, Leeds, above all 
London, grew bigger and blacker day by day. Slums were 
exuded like pus from running boils. The Black Life ravaged 

Nevertheless the net result was a gain. Machines multi- 
plied, goods multiplied, and Britain "prospered." 

Whereupon other lands grew envious. They too had their 
go-getters, and these were not content to let the British 
control the supply of plenty. They hungered to create wells 
of their own, and pump at them to their own profit. So a cry 
went up on the other side of the Channel, and even across 
the Atlantic, for machines, machines, machines ! 

The British capitalists, hearing that cry, were much 
moved. In the past all export of machinery had been for- 
bidden by law; but now that ban was swept aside. There 
was profit in selling machinery to foreigners, better profit 
by far than could ever be derived from peddling machine- 
products. Why then forbid it ? 

True, such commerce did smack of selling the goose that 
laid the golden eggs. In the long run it held out the threat 
of ruining Britain's industry. But that consideration was 
ignored, and for very cogent reasons. In the first place, it 
was part of good capitalist theology that the long run 
would take care of itself. In the second place, it was part of 
good capitalist ethics always to sell whatever a customer 


would buy. In the third place, it was obvious that if the 
precious goose was not sold. It would be stolen. The for- 
eigners would simply build their own machines. 

So there was a rush to claw fresh Iron out of the bowels 
of Britain's earth, and a rush to forge the ore into equip- 
ment. If the foreigners could not pay for this equipment, 
the Britishers were all the more pleased. They themselves 
advanced the money and thus made a double profit : an imme- 
diate one on the sale, and a protracted one on the mortgage. 
They went even further, and started industries, overseas en- 
tirely on their own hook. Then, sending out their own mana- 
gers to look after the enterprises, they sat at home and 
raked in the revenues. This was the most profitable proce- 
dure of all. It gave foreigners the privilege of feeding the 
goose while the British collected the eggs. 

The Black Life began to spread. At first, however, it 
spread very slowly, for the rest of the world seemed not 
quite ready yet for industrialism. Belgium alone succumbed 
without much of a struggle, because there alone was the 
basic situation somewhat akin to Great Britain's. Belgium's 
soil contained plenty of coal and iron, the national spirit 
was markedly middle-class, the peasantry was largely land- 
less, and access to foreign markets was easy and secure. The 
little country was palpably ripe for the Black Life. 

English millwrights started to move in even before 1800, 
and several of them prospered fabulously. One by the name 
of Cockerill started an iron foundry at Liege which even- 
tually, thanks to royal patronage, became almost the largest 
in the world. Native go-getters were quick to emulate such 
immigrants. They scrabbled for capital, bought machinery, 
and set up "modern" lace factories, carpet works, and paper 


mills. By 1830 Belgium was able to boast industrial centers 
which were nearly as busy and fully as squalid as those of 

Elsewhere, however, there was no such rapid development. 
France, for example, continued to resist the Black Life even 
after 1830. One reason was the stodginess of the rich there. 
They were like tortoises who sullenly, stubbornly hug the 
ground for fear they may be thrown on their backs. They 
preferred to invest their wealth in land, not machinery. An- 
other reason was the independence of the poor. Thanks to 
the French Revolution, the bulk of the peasants owned their 
own farms, and therefore had no need to beg for work in 
factory towns. Finally, France was lacking in mineral re- 
sources. Her coal-measures were broken and shallow, and 
they lay too far from the deposits of iron. Twenty years 
after James Watt could exclaim that England had gone 
"steam-engine mad," there were just fifteen of his contrap- 
tions in the entire realm of France. By 1830 there were 
barely six hundred, and as late as 1840 there were fewer 
than twenty-five hundred. 

It was much the same in the United States. Before 1830 
there was no large-scale industry over here at all, and even 
after that date it was slow to develop. Large-scale industry 
required money and machinery, and both these items had to 
be imported from England. Few native enterprisers cared 
to stoop to manufacturing, and those who did f or instance, 
the Lowells, Cabots, and Lawrences in Massachusetts were 
for the most part people of small means and modest station. 
The established American capitalists saw more prestige and 
safer profit in growing and shipping raw-stuffs : cotton, to- 
bacco, sugar, and wheat. 

Besides, there was a lack of cheap labor. In England a 
millowner could get all the workers he needed at starvation 


wages ; but not here. This was literally a free land because 
it contained free land. The penniless immigrants who kept 
arriving had a way of demanding what they considered a 
living wage. If it was refused them in the towns on the 
seaboard, they pushed off to the clearings on the frontier. 
So here, as in France, industrialism merely took root. It 
was unable to flourish yet. 

GERMANY circa 1830 
Not so much a nation as an area. 

And elsewhere industrialism fared even worse. In Germany, 
for example, it could hardly get even a start during that 
generation. The political situation was primarily to blame. 
The land was divided into some thirty-nine separate realms, 


many no larger than a handkerchief lady's size. Each was 
a power unto itself, boasting its own ruler, its own troops? 
its own tariffs, often even its own coinage. Germany in the 
early Nineteenth Century was a little like the Balkans in the 
early Twentieth. It was not so much a nation as an area. 

Consequently an ambitious businessman had almost no 
chance there. He needed elbow-room, gangway, space in 
which to let ? er go. Instead he was hemmed in by all those 
frontiers. Worse still, behind each frontier there was usually 
some flatulent potentate with his bottom glued to a throne 
and his feet planted square in the path of progress. 

And there seemed to be no way to mend this situation. A 
businessman still ranked as a Burger, and that term told the 
whole story of his plight. Centuries earlier, when gangsterism 
had been universal in Europe, the least unsafe place for an 
enterprising commoner had been the Burg, the "fortress," 
of the nearest gang-lord. That was where the merchants set 
up their booths, the craftsmen their shops, and the trollops 
their cribs. In time permanent markets developed around 
these strongholds, and later on walled towns. Finally the 
walls were torn down, and modern cities emerged. By 1830 
this process was nearly complete in Germany but only in 
a physical sense. Spiritually the walls endured, though they 
were built of tradition now instead of stone. Those who had 
once huddled behind them for protection were still there 
as prisoners. 

If a burgher wanted to start a new business, he couldn't 
simply go ahead and start it. First he had to fawn and bribe 
and pull wires until the local officialdom deigned to grant 
him permission. And thenceforth he had to let that official- 
dom pry and poke into every detail of his business, for such 
was still the law throughout most of Germany. The clay- 
cold hand of feudalism had as yet been barely budged there, 


and for that reason if no other actually there was many 
another industrial expansion was all but impossible. Here 
and there individual hustlers did manage to start modern 
plants for example, Krupp in Essen and Borsig in Berlin 
but these were usually very small, and they were operated 
under the most maddening handicaps. 

The lordly rulers abhorred industrialism. In the first 
place, it was something new, and that made it abhorrent to 
them on principle. They liked to quote their idol, Prince 
Metternich, who used to say: "I detest even every New 
Year's Day because it is new I" In the second place, they had 
a very practical objection: industrialism menaced their in- 
terests. True, it did promise to open up new sources of taxa- 
tion, and thus yield them larger revenues. (And that was a 
telling point, since most of those rulers were continually 
rolling in debt.) But it also threatened to yield even larger 
revenues to those from whom the taxes were to be extorted. 
Scurvy upstarts would quickly get rich, and begin to think 
themselves as good as their betters. The land would be over- 
run by a lot of burghers on horseback. That would never do. 
Better to have little and maintain the fear of the lords, than 
acquire great treasure and turmoil therewith. 

Such was the attitude of most of the trerman rulers. 
Moreover, since they were the rulers, they were able to make 
their attitude prevail. 

Much the same was true in Italy. That land, too, was 
carved up into many sovereign provinces Sardinia, Tus- 
cany, Piedmont, Sicily, the Papal States, et cetera, et cetera 
so there, too, industrial development had almost no chance. 
There were other hindrances, most notably a lack of coal 
and iron. But the worst hindrance seemed to be this political 
fragmentation. It left the governing power in the hands of 
petty autocrats whose minds were as closed as fists. In Pied- 


mont, for example, a royal edict actually commanded the 
preservation of illiteracy. Only those subjects who could 

ITALY circa 1830 
Tfttf rulers had minds as closed as fists. 

boast an income of ov$r 1500 lire were permitted to learn 
how to read and write! Jn much the same spirit, the Papal 
States as late as 185! "prohibited the building of a railway 


across the Romagna. The stated reason was that "railways 
breed commerce, and commerce breeds sin"! 

As for the regions farther to the east, Austria-Hungary, 
Russia, and Turkey, there the autocrats were gross instead 
of petty, so industrialism had no chance at all. Likewise in 
Spain. In such countries the Black Life was as yet impos- 
sible, for they were still swaddled in the cerements of the 
Black Death, 


O ENGLAND was able to retain 
her lead. Indeed, she extended it 
now. With the rest of the world 
mulishly lagging behind, England 
forged farther and farther ahead. 
There seemed to be magic in ma- 
chinery, for the more it grew, the 
more it had to continue to grow. 
The 1830's saw British industry 
break all records for expansion. Several factors were re- 
sponsible, but the chief was the critical need for better 



transportation. Wagons and barges were no longer adequate 
to fetch and carry between the mines and mills and markets. 
The country had to have railways. 

It began to get them nt>w. Attempts had been made to 
start railways in the early 1820's, but these had failed. 
Horses had been used to move the trucks, or stationary 
engines, or even sails. Not until a mechanic named George 
Stephenson developed a sound locomotive did such transport 
become really practical; and from then on progress was 
swift and wonderful. In 1830 a line was inaugurated from 
Liverpool to Manchester with a fanfare worthy of a corona- 
tion. The very Duke of Wellington attended the ceremony, 
and with him a whole host of lesser notables. Speeches were 
made, whistles were tooted, and flag-waving mobs shouted 
hip-hip-hooray. To cap it all, a former cabinet minister 
crossed the tracks at the wrong moment and was run over 
and killed. After that no one in England doubted that rail- 
ways had a great future. 

Tracks began to be laid all over the land. There was no 
plan in their laying, no attempt at a unified system. Rails 
were simply flung down and nailed fast wherever the builders 
could buy or filch a right-of-way. They were crude iron rails 
that buckled and sagged, and the clumsy high-wheeled trains 
swayed terrifyingly. But who cared? At least the trains did 

It was marvelous ! Never in the history of man had the 
rate of land-travel averaged more than five miles an hour. 
Even Napoleon in flight by coach from Russia had been 
unable to exceed that speed. But now any ordinary man 
going about his quite ordinary business could go four, five, 
even six times as fast! Was that not marvelous? 

News of the wonder spread throughout the civilized world 
and at once there was wide eff ort at imitation. Several short 


lines were started in the United States, in Belgium, in 
France. Germany caught the fever, and Holland, Austria, 
Italy. Even Russia succumbed to what was called there the 

RAILROADS circa 1848 
The Russians called it the "iron samovar' 9 

Naturally, there was some opposition. Every new invention 
aroused the hostility of one or another element in the popu- 
lation. When the first railway line was projected in Bavaria, 
the medical faculty of the University of Erlangen declared 
that any vehicle moving faster than fifteen miles per hour 
must surely make the passengers bleed at the nose. Else- 
where on the Continent similar authorities gave warning that 


travel in tunnels might easily induce paralytic strokes. The 
Vatican, as we have seen, objected to the innovation on moral 
grounds, and innumerable Protestant divines quoted Scrip- 
ture against it. 

Nevertheless the railways continued to spread. At first 
they spread most thickly in England, for that was where 
they were most needed and where they could be best af- 
forded. Fifty years of profitable manufacturing had already 
begun to glut the country with capital. Fortunes were spent 
to wangle franchises and buy up rights-of-way. Great for- 
ests were leveled to furnish sleepers for the roadbeds ; deep 
mines were scooped for iron to forge into rails. Tens of 
thousands of navvies were set to gashing the countryside, 
and soon all Britain was one mesh of metal tracks. 

Railway building became a national mania. Crusty old 
squires might curse because train-sparks set fire to their 
haystacks. Doe-eyed poets might lament because cinders 
soiled the dew in their bosky dells. But they cursed and la- 
mented in vain. The day of the haystack had passed; only 
smokestacks counted now. As for dew, what good was it? 
The real need now was sweat. What England needed was 
more men willing to sweat that there might be more engines 
to give off smoke. 

And England got such men. For example, there was 
George Hudson: an immense sweaty blob of a man, round and 
solid, with a thick square head nailed to wide square shoulders, 
and a voice like a runaway train. He was just the type for 
that day. He believed in himself and he believed in railways. 
Also he was not squeamish. So he dug his stubby fingers into 
England's soil and clawed tracks for all he was worth. 

And how people loved him for it ! Thrice the city of York 
elected him Lord Mayor, and for long all England hailed 
him the "Railway King." When a grateful constituency 


elected him to Parliament, a special train raced to London 
to announce the glad tidings. The noblest lords fawned on 
the man; the stingiest bankers showered him with credit. 
Even the prim young Queen became a party to his schemes. 
On one occasion he presented Victoria with a royal train- 
carriage decorated with rare woods and shiny brass fittings, 
and when she beheld it, her tight stays almost burst. 
"Really," she gasped, "this is beautiful!" 

It was beautiful, all right. Everything seemed beautiful 
just then. The boom was at its height, and railway shares 
were going up, up, up. The mines were busy, the mills were 
busy, and jobs were so plentiful that some of the poor even 
had sugar for their tea. 

"God's in his heaven 
All's right with the world!" 

Thus sang a fellow who was making quite a success of poetry 
at the time. Possibly he was indulging in sarcasm, but if he 
was, few of his readers suspected it. The rest took Robert 
Browning most solemnly, and from the depths of their 
bosoms breathed "Amen!" 

For to those people all was right with the world. They 
were getting richer all the time, and with an ease undreamt 
of even yesterday. Then one had needed cunning and dili- 
gence to make money, an ability to think fast and a willing- 
ness to work hard. A man had had to go out and start his 
own little factory, work in it all day, worry about it all 
night, and live and die cherishing little else. What pleasure 
there had been in that had been the toilsome pleasure a 
beaver knows, the grim, harsh, exacting fun enjoyed by an 
ant. That was one reason why most of the real gentlefolk 
had kept aloof from industry. They had preferred to hoard 
their wealth, or sink it in land, or squander it on conspicuous 


luxuries. Had they put it into industry, they would have 
had to put in their energies, too. They would have had to 
become partners with raffish millwrights and traders. Their 
stomachs could not stand that nor perhaps their brains. 

But the situation had changed during the past decade or 
two. Railways and other such giant undertakings required 
investors rather than partners. They invited people to share 
in the ownership of industry without bothering at all about 
its operation. That seemed ideal. All one had to do, it ap- 
peared, was buy certain pieces of paper, large ones hand- 
somely engraved, and then sit baclc and wait for quarterly 
dividends. Or, if one was impatient, one could sell those 
pieces of paper at a higher price the next day or the next 
month, and then go out and buy others. 

For soon there was a wide variety of such certificates. 
Some were called "bonds" or "debentures," and represented 
straight loans on which interest was promised at a fixed 
rate each year. Others were called "shares" or "equities," 
because these were supposed to entitle their owners to an 
equitable share of the net profits. Bonds and shares alike 
were called "securities," a very comforting term. One could 
purchase securities in all sorts of enterprises located all 
over the earth. A man living in England might make himself 
part-owner of a railway in Germany, a tea-plantation in 
Ceylon, a textile-plant in Poland, or a deposit of guano 
bird-droppings ! in Peru. All he needed was the money to 
buy the appropriate piece of paper. 

The transaction was effected through an institution called 
a stock exchange. There had been stock exchanges in Lon- 
don and Amsterdam ever since the early 1600's, but formerly 
such institutions had been patronized almost entirely by 
professional speculators. Now, however, quite genteel people 
started to crowd around. The exchanging could no longer be 


done on street-corners, or in the back-rooms of smoky coffee- 
houses. The brokers began to set up shop in granite edifices 
built like Roman temples. 

This happened most of all, of course, in England. Loose 
capital was most abundant in that country; therefore its 
owners were most tempted to play fast and loose. But much 
the same thing occurred, in varying degree, wherever else 
people felt money burning in their pockets. The boom swept 
most of Europe, and shares rocketed to the sky. Higher and 
higher they went, higher and higher. 

And then 


The collapse came in 1847. Just what started it is still 
uncertain, but we know well what brought it to a head. 
Rumors leaked out in London of fraud in connection with 
some of the new railway companies. It was whispered that 
even George Hudson was involved. That was bad. Suddenly 
the stock market began to sag. It sagged, recovered, and 
then sagged lower than before. That was very bad. The 
Queen's ministers rushed to the rescue. They wrote her a 
speech and read it for her to Parliament a splendid speech 
full of warm assurances that there was no cause for alarm. 
Too late. Those who owned shares wanted more than as- 
surances. They wanted cash. 

And then the awful truth became known: there was no 
cash! Where it had gone, no one seemed to know. (Actually, 
most of it had never existed, except on paper.) The luckless 
shareholders began to storm and rage. They collared George 
Hudson, and bellowed, Where's our money? He had no an- 
swer. The little eyes in his chunky head blinked and blinked. 


He just did not know. He could not tell them where even 
his own money was gone. 

Had they given him a chance, he might perhaps have 
recollected. Like an alchemist in reverse he had turned gold 
into iron, joining York to Darlington, Darlington to New- 
castle, Newcastle to Manchester, and Manchester back to 
York. In his own brash, reckless, rip-snorting way he had 
done a fine job. But he was so shaken at the moment that he 
forgot all about that. Everybody else forgot about that. All 
they could remember was that once they had apparently had 
money, and now it was gone. 

And then what had happened so often before happened 
again. With capital suddenly dried up, the machines began 
to slow down. It was as though they had run out of oil* The 
engines coughed, the wheels jammed, and the smoke paled 
over the factory towns. Railway construction halted, forcing 
scores of mines and foundries to close down. This threw 
thousands of toilers out of work, leaving them unable to 
buy goods. This in turn forced the mills which produced 
those goods to close down, throwing more thousands out of 
work, and rendering these likewise unable to buy goods. 
That was how it went, down and down and out and out, till 
at last the whole economy lay prostrate. 

Nor did this happen merely in Great Britain. Capital had 
spread far and wide, and once the supply of it thinned at 
the center, it became thin everywhere else. As swiftly as 
the new telegraph wires could stutter report of the collapse 
in London, so swiftly did banks begin to close their doors 
in Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, even St. Petersburg. Frock- 
coated brokers clawed at their side-whiskers ; titled specula- 
tors blew out their brains. They felt the world had come to 
an end. 

A fierce young German philosopher watched the crash 


from Belgium, where he was living just then as a political 
refugee. His name was Karl Marx, and he was greatly 
stirred by what he saw. With a pen that jabbed the paper 
he wrote : 

"Commerce is at a standstill, the markets are glutted, products 
keep piling up, hard cash and credit are gone, factories are closed 
. . . liquidation follows upon liquidation, bankruptcy upon bank- 
ruptcy. . . . The industrial gallop . . . after breakneck leaps^ ends 
where it began in the ditch." 


O THEN there was revolution. 
Even in England there was an 
attempt at revolution in 1848. It 
was made, naturally, by the work- 
ers, for though the owners too 
were in a plight now, they could 
hardly blame the government for 
it. The owners were the govern- 
ment. But the workers were not, 
and that gave them good reason to want a revolution. 
For those British workers were no longer what they had 



been In earlier times. In the first place, they were more nu- 
merous. Their ranks had been swelled by both addition and 
multiplication, addition from the countryside, and multipli- 
cation in the towns. The entire population of Great Britain 
had been increasing at a phenomenal rate since the coming 
of the Machine, and the bulk of this increase had naturally 
occurred among the town laborers. That was one reason why 

they deserved to be called 
the "proletariat." No 
other element could keep 
up with them when it came 
to proliferating proles, 

Laborers as a class had 
always been heavy breed- 
ers, but formerly most of 
their offspring had died at 
birth or soon thereafter. 
Industrialism, h owever, had 
changed all that. It had 
created great wealth, and 
a little of that wealth had 
gone to advance medicine. 
Doctors had become less 

crude, midwives less filthy, and hospitals less rare and appall- 
ing. Though morbidity had increased, mortality had fallen. 
More people might be sickly now, but fewer sicknesses were 
fatal. Certain plagues cholera, smallpox, and scurvy had 
been all but wiped out. And famines had been robbed of their 
terror. Most of the ships that sailed forth with factory 
goods, came back laden with agricultural produce. That 
meant more food for the British masses, more wheat and 
meat and sugar and tea not to mention gin and bitters. 



As a result, those masses were able to multiply as never 

This, to be sure, was not altogether a blessing for them. 
As individuals, most of the laborers were glad enough to 
have large families. It gratified their carnal instincts, satis- 
fied their religious beliefs, and offered them a mite of finan- 
cial security. Children were an economic asset now. They 
could go into the factories and help support their parents. 

But collectively the effect was calamitous. By increasing 
so rapidly the poor made themselves cheap, and at the same 
time made merchandise dear. They kept glutting the supply 
of labor and draining the supply of goods. Consequently 
their standard of living remained miserable. 

True, it was not quite so miserable as in the first days of 
industrialism. Wages had gone up slightly, hours had been 
reduced to twelve or even ten a day, and the masters were no 
longer uncontrollable slave-drivers. Parliament had been 
forced to enact considerable factory legislation, especially 
during the early 184<0*s. But this mean improvement did not 
satisfy the workers. If anything, it made them the more 
mutinous. A little leniency is a dangerous thing. So long as 
the wage-earners had had their faces ground in the dust, 
so long had they been blind and hopeless. But now they 
could look up. Now they could raise their heads just a little 
and see what was around them and above them. And a glare 
of rancor came into their eyes. 

For these creatures were no longer tame villagers. They 
had become townsfolk and that made a difference. A vil- 
lager had to be respectful to his betters : to the squire and 
his fine lady, to the parson, to the bailiff. Whenever one of 
these shouted, "Come here, my man!" instantly he came 
running, hat in hand. That was the tradition, and no proper 
villager dared break it. Also he had to behave respectably 


among Ms neighbors, for they knew who he was, and they 
had ways to make him feel it. Paul Pry lived next door, 
Mrs. Grundy across the green, and with such folk looking 
on, a body was too afraid even to think unconventionally, 
let alone act that way. 

But a townsman was free of such restraints. His betters, 
usually, were a crowd of upstarts, and he was more prone 
to cock a snoot at them than tip his hat. As for his neigh- 
bors, most of them were total strangers. If they didn't like 
how he behaved, he told them to go x themselves. 

Centuries earlier, when cities had first begun to arise in 
medieval Europe, there had been a proverb that "town air 
makes one free." That proverb still held good. Many of the 
factory workers in Great Britain had become free in at least 
this: they were no longer so easy to overawe. Where once 
they had been mice, now they were more like rats. 

No wonder. Merely to live in those sooty, smoke-choked, 
stinking slums, was enough to make men as mean as rats. 
Sooty little houses like the droppings of some monstrous 
goat stood back to back along sooty little alleyways. Row 
on row they stood there, row on row, with privies in the 
basements and drains outside the doors. No trees, no grass, 
no touch of paint or sight of bloom ; nothing but sooty brick 
and sooty slate and sooty iron and stone. And there in those 
warrens the poor were crammed a family to a room or two. 
There they had to cook and eat and sleep and multiply. 
Home, sweet home ! 

In Manchester, it is recorded, a district housing seven 
thousand souls was supplied at this time with but thirty- 
three water-closets. In all of Lancashire only one town could 
boast a public park. Many & slum lacked even wells, let 
alone piped water. The poor had to trudge to the "better" 
sections to fill their pails each day. Refuse was left in the 


gutters for the pigs to eat, or for the rains to wash away. 
Street-lighting was all but unknown there where it was 
most needed and almost the only time the police showed 
up was when a strike was brewing. 

Schools were few, supported by charity, and run not un- 
like reformatories. Most of the teachers were starveling 
monitors who knew little save that one should not spare the 
rod. They would have made better animal-trainers. Hardly 
one child out of thirty in all the land ever learned so much 
as to read or write. In some counties the ratio was more 
nearly one in three hundred. 

Churches were less uncommon, but even they were not 
much help. Here and there a devoted curate did manage to 
spread a little cheer. An occasional churchman of the 
"broad" variety dared go so far as to call himself a "Chris- 
tian Socialist." These, however, were the rare, rare excep- 
tion. The typical Man of God down in the slums was a 
surpliced prig who merely went through motions ; or else he 
was a jumping, thumping, foaming exhorter who roared of 
the Wrath to Come. 

That was why many of the slum-dwellers steered clear of 
the churches. They preferred to hang around the corner pub. 
The place might stink of beer and vomit, but at least it was 
friendly. A worker could get drunk there, and that was fine. 
When a worker got drunk he could feel like a lord. The ache 
went out of his back, and also out of his soul. He could 
forget the world he lived in, and be almost happy. "The 
quickest way out of Manchester," ran the saying, "is 
through the door of the nearest pub." Most of the workers 
went through that door as often as they had the price. Or 

But not all of them. Some had stronger wills or queasier 
stomachs and these sought another way of escape. Usually 


they were workmen who had learned to read, and who through 
reading had learned to think. Not all the products of the 
charity schools grew up to spell out nothing but religious 
tracts. Some discovered the pamphlets published by Robert 
Owen and his kind. Furtive little printing-shops in a dozen 
different towns were putting out a flood of literature about 
the "rights of labor," the "crimes of capital," and the virtue 
of that thing called "Socialism." Such pamphlets were not 
always easy to understand. Many of the words were strange, 
the sentences were involved, and the print was usually close 
and smeary. But those who read them, men with moving lips, 
could get at least the gist of the pamphlets and that was 
enough. They learned from them that it was foolish, nay 
wicked, to try to deaden themselves to the world. A man's 
duty, they learned, was not to forget the world, but fight it. 

Whereupon they cloaked themselves in a mantle of wrath, 
took up the sword of hate, and fought. 

First they agitated against the law of 1799 which forbade 
them to combine and strike. And when they got it rescinded 
in 1825 they set out to organize militant unions through- 
out the country. There had been unions all along in several 
industrial sections, but these had usually masqueraded as 
"burial societies" or "choral clubs." Now they came out into 
the open, and began to flourish like morning-glories under 
a hot sun. Robert Owen, who had become labor's tribune, 
was talked into leading the movement, and by 1833 he had 
more than a million members enrolled in one Grand National 
Consolidated Trades Union. 

At the same time again under Owen's influence small 
cooperative stores were started in the factory slums. The 
members pooled their pennies, bought flour and tea and can- 
dles wholesale, and thus struggled to reduce the cost of 


living. By 1835 there were already some five hundred of these 
stores in Great Britain. 

Such things helped. The unions enabled the workers to 
stand up to the millowners, and the cooperatives gave them 
a way to hold down the shopkeepers. Because some of the 
poor ceased to he meek, it began to look as though all might 
cease to be poor some day. 

Labor was on the march. 

But then came 1847, and an abrupt halt. Worse: there 
was actual rout. Jobs became so scarce that the workers 
were glad to take them for any pay. The unions crumbled 
and the cooperatives collapsed. Almost overnight everything 
that labor had won seemed lost. 

It was not the first time. Much the same thing had hap- 
pened a decade earlier, then too as a direct result of a fi- 
nancial panic. Dreadful convulsions had ensued then, pro- 
longed strikes and bloody brawls. Birmingham was all but 
laid waste in 1839. Mobs set fire to many factories there, 
and plundered countless fine homes. The Duke of Wellington, 
who suppressed the outbreak, later testified that in all his 
experience he had never seen a city worse sacked. 

But now the labor leaders knew better than to try blind 
violence. Their first need, they realized, was a hold on Parlia- 
ment ; otherwise the government would again be free to call 
out the troops to shoot them down. In other words, the 
workers had to wrest the right to vote. At present, only 
the rich had that privilege, the male householders whose 
dwellings had a rental value of at least ten pounds ($50.00) 
a year. That, incredibly, was so steep a qualification that it 
disfranchised nearly ninety-five percent of the population! 
So a call went out to the workers to rise up and yell. They 


were told to yell for a "People's Charter' 9 which would make 
manhood suffrage universal in the land. Then the govern- 
ment, which had once been aristocratic, and was now pluto- 
cratic, would at last become actually democratic. At long 
last it would be run by and for The People. 

A queer character named Feargus O'Connor became the 
leader of the agitation. He was a hulking, wild-eyed, fire- 
breathing Irishman who had long been struggling to win the 
masses to "Chartism/ 5 Now, in the hard winter of 184*78, he 
saw his. chance. First he got millions of workers to sign a 
monster petition demanding immediate enactment of the 
"Charter. 3 * Then he called for a horde to march on London 
and ram the petition down Parliament's throat. He set a 
date for the event the tenth of April and picked a place 
on the outskirts of the capital for the host to assemble. 

The authorities did not like the sound of that. They 
rapped out an order forbidding the march. But O'Connor 
had the pluck of a madman he actually did end up in a 
mad-house and he roared that the government could not 
frighten him. Come the tenth of April, said he, and the work- 
ers themselves would be the government! 

The gentry in London began to shiver. Word reached them 
that mobs were gathering in Manchester, Bristol, York, even 
Edinburgh and Glasgow: ragged folk with hunger in their 
bowels and fury in their eyes. The aged Duke of Wellington 
was once more pressed into service. Troops were stationed at 
the bridge-heads across the Thames, and guns were mounted 
around the Houses of Parliament and the Bank. One hundred 
and seventy thousand patriotic clerks and lackeys were en- 
rolled as special constables. 

At length the dread day dawned. The whole town waited, 
taut with apprehension. Finally O'Connor appeared. But he 
was not leading an army. He was riding in a hired cab,, the 


monster petition in Ms lap. Six million workers more or 
less had been willing to sign that petition; but not even 
fifty thousand had dared come along to present it. So he was 
bringing it alone. 

That was his finish. When O'Connor reached the House of 
Commons, the honorable members waved him away with a 
snort. They knew they had nothing more to fear from him or 
his rabble. 

They, the owners, were still the rulers in Great Britain. 


UT the story was different on the 
Continent. There 1848 became 
known as the "Mad Year," for not 
one class but two dared to rebel. 
In France, Germany, and a dozen 
other lands the financial collapse 
left the burghers as sore as the 
workers, so they combined and be- 
gan to topple thrones all over the 
place. Within six months there was hardly one old regime 
left intact between the Atlantic and the Russian border. 



Suddenly, however, the storm gave out. Swift as had been 
the revolution, even swifter came the reaction. Within an- 
other six months most of the old regimes were back in power 

Two factors were largely responsible for that reversal. 
First, the revolution had lacked general support. It had been 
engineered entirely by city folk, and industrialism had as yet 
taken too little hold on the Continent for city folk to carry 
decisive weight. The bulk of the people were peasants : slow, 
dumb, torpid creatures afraid of change. They were the 
"masses" in the original sense of that term: just dough to 
be kneaded. (The Greek verb massein actually meant "to 
knead.") They may not have been satisfied with the mean 
life they led, but they had lived it so long that they could not 
conceive of a better. So they refused to join the insurgents. 
Instead, they actually rallied to the other side. 

Even at that the revolution might have prevailed, for 
what its supporters lacked in numbers they more than made 
up in brashness and brains. But hardly had they stormed 
the first battlements before they fell to quarreling among 
themselves. The burghers discovered that the workers at 
their side were out for more than had been bargained for. 
The burghers wanted merely to abolish feudalism; but this, 
it seemed, was not going to satisfy their allies. The workers 
talked of abolishing capitalism as well ! 

Not all the workers talked that way, but those who did 
were fearfully loud. Just what they wanted in the place of 
capitalism was not quite clear even to themselves. Some spoke 
of establishing "socialism," others "communism," still others 
"anarchism." The good burghers recoiled in terror. Most of 
them had never even heard those terms before. They had been 
so busy struggling to get ahead that they had had no time to 


watch what was stirring among those they were leaving 

But now they knew, and it made their flesh crawl. 

i CE3STTEBS circa 1847 

The Slack Life had taken hold. 

Hostility to capitalism had been brewing on the Continent 
for fully a generation already. As early as 1817, the year 
Robert Owen sounded off in England, a treatise appeared in 
France which attacked the system with a cleaver. Its author 
was an ambitious, impoverished, half-cracked nobleman 
named Claude Henri Saint-Simon, whose imagination was ex- 
ceeded only by his naivete. According to him, capitalism was 


the Ant i- Christ in the new world which was being created by 
the Machine. Properly, said he, all the means of production 
should be owned by the state, and their management left 
solely to artists, scientists, and technicians. These should 
form a new aristocracy more accurately, a technocracy 
bound by vows to run the entire economy for the benefit of 
the entire populace. This would ensure such a vastness of 
wealth, and so little chance to hoard it, that all the present 
ills would vanish at once. It would bring on practically the 
Kingdom of Heaven. 

Saint-Simon was naturally a laughing-stock in his day, 
and when he died in 1825 after at least one attempt at 
suicide his queer gospel seemed fated to die with him. But 
it did not. Ten years later, by which time the Black Life had 
finally begun to take hold in France, Saint- Simonism became 
all the vogue in certain circles. Bright young engineers be- 
came fascinated by the vision of a world reordered and run 
by their kind. Bright young ladies, too, found the cult al- 
luring, if only because it advocated complete equality and 
intimacy of the sexes. 

Soon, however, a number of rival cults appeared, for 
newer prophets kept arising who sought to improve on Saint- 
Simon. In France there were Blanqui, Fourier, Cabet, and 
Proudhon ; in Germany there were Franz von Baader, Adam 
Miiller, Rodbertus, and Hess. Each of these managed to at- 
tract apostles who proceeded to evangelize with the most for- 
midable zeaL They organized meetings in cafes and beer-halls, 
and they argued endlessly in fashionable salons. They pub- 
lished books, pamphlets, journals, broadsides, and occa- 
sionally chalked slogans on palace walls. 

Nevertheless the total effect was slight. Radicalism seemed 
to appeal almost entirely to eccentrics: seedy noblemen, 
frustrated ladies, hot-tempered poets, and sore-headed clerks. 


Good, honest toilers would give it hardly a sniff. That is, so 
long as those toilers had jobs. But once their jobs were gone, 
they began to take in radicalism by the lungful. They were 
ready for it then, ready and savagely eager. The financial 
panic of 1847 had thrown more than a hundred thousand 
workers on the street in Paris alone. Lyons, too, swarmed 
with jobless folk, and so did Cologne, Milan, Berlin, Vienna, 
and every other newly blackened town. 

We have already seen what ensued. The burghers, having 
their own cause for rancor, urged the workers to turn on the 
princes. But no sooner were the latter momentarily dislodged 
than those same workers turned on the burghers. Armed 
mobs came pouring out of the slums like lava out of the 
bowels of the earth. In bands they came, in gangs, in droves, 
bawling : 

"Blood must flow now, 

Blood must flow now, 

Blood, blood, blood I" 

In hordes they came, bearing red flags and howling : "Long 
live the Revolution ! . . . Down with ALL Masters !" 

No wonder the burghers quailed. They saw that they had 
thrown off a yoke only to put their necks in a noose. So they 
began to back away and that gave the reactionaries their 
chance. For a while the proletariat struggled to resist the 
counter-attack. In Paris they barricaded the streets, and 
fought pitched battles against the "loyalist" troops. They 
fought from house to house, even from room to room. When 
they ran out of gunpowder, they tried to stand their ground 
with knives and sledge-hammers. They hurled rocks and 
paving-stones, they poured hot lead from the roof tops. Not 
until ten thousand of them lay dead or wounded were the 
rest ready to give in. 

Then the revolution was over. 


UT the upheaval of 1848 had not 
been entirely in vain. Though it 
may not have cured anything, it 
had at least lanced a few boils . 
True, the hereditary princes did 
manage to crawl back into the 
saddle, but their seat was shaky^ 
and they knew it. The less impru- 
dent took heed and tried to ride 
with new care thenceforth. They gave over using whip and 

spur, and began to hold out the oat-bag. The Austrian Em- 



peror agreed to abolish serfdom, and Napoleon III of 
France consented to legalize labor unions. The rulers of 
Sardinia, Holland, Denmark, and Prussia promised to abide 
by written constitutions. 

The dead hand of feudalism continued to rest on most of 
Europe, but less oppressively now. And one eventual result 
was a new surge of prosperity. The burghers were somewhat 
freer now politically. Moreover and this was supremely 
telling gold had of a sudden come pouring out of a fabled 
place called California. Thanks to the flood of new bullion 
those burghers were able to make a fresh start economically. 

The wheels of industry, which had been creaking since 
1847, picked up speed again and began to hum. It was ab- 
surd, in a way. Those wheels were made of iron and driven 
by steam. Rationally their motion should have been no more 
dependent on the supply of gold than is the sun's on the 
noisiness of roosters. That, however, is beside the point. In- 
dustrialism may not have needed the shiny metal, but cap- 
italism did. And capitalism, it must never be forgotten, was 
the vital gland that governed industrialism's growth. Conse- 
quently a lucky strike by a hobo working on a cattle ranch 
somewhere in the Wild West was able to start a boom 
throughout the world. 

The effect, naturally, was felt first and most sharply in 
the United States. California had begun to yield more than 
$50,000,000 worth of gold each year, so the nation was 
free to run amuck with enterprise. Gone now was thfe old de- 
pendence on England. Having money of their own at last, 
the Americans grew more venturesome. Here, they saw, lay a 
whole continent aching to disgorge its wealth. Red men had 
roamed it for millennia, and white men for centuries, yet thus 
far barely a corner of it had been even scratched. What was 
needed was more machinery : more railroads, freighters, saw- 


mills, foundries, cotton looms, tool shops, and whiskey stills. 

They got busy. Instead of importing machinery, they 
learnt to make it for themselves. They built locomotives far 
larger than any used in Europe, and steamboats far more 
navigable and capacious. They developed totally new de- 
vices : a mechanical reaper, a handy sewing machine, a prac- 
tical typewriter, a rotary printing press. In 1831 an official 
of the United States Patent Office had urged that it be aban- 
doned on the ground that "small prospect remains of further 
inventions." Now patents began to be issued at the rate of 
more than forty a week! 

American industry f ound its feet at last, and strode forth 
like a young and slightly drunken giant. More and more 
chimney stacks sprouted in New England, more and more 
mine-shafts pocked the Appalachian hills. A black maze of 
railways thickened around the Great Lakes, and steamboat 
lines began to snake down every broad stream. Commerce 
pushed farther and farther westward, traversing the plains, 
the mountains, at last even the yonder sea. By 1860 the 
Yankee traders were handling half the business of the port 
of Shanghai. 

All that took money and made money. The number of 
banks doubled within the space of four years ; the number of 
corporations quadrupled. Forgotten was the day when the 
stockbrokers in New York had been satisfied to do their trad- 
ing under an old buttonwood tree on Wall Street. Now they 
moved into grand offices equipped with plush chairs and 
gilded cuspidors. They could afford it. A boom was on, and 
whoever had cash or could raise credit rushed to speculate. 
English, French, and German capitalists reached out blindly 
across the ocean to snatch up options, concessions, and 
shares. A billion dollars were sunk into railroads alone, and 
no one knows how much more into mines, mills, farms, docks, 


stores, and fancy saloons. And profits went up, up, up. 
People began to say the "Golden Age" had finally dawned. 

The boom was not confined to America. The arteries of 
business encircled almost half the earth now, and a distention 
anywhere meant excitement everywhere. England reacted al- 
most at once. Idle mills reopened in Manchester, and long- 
silent foundries started to clank again in Birmingham. The 
Americans needed supplies: pins, pans, engines, derricks, 
shirts, shovels, and shootin* irons. True, they had begun to 
produce such articles at home, but not in nearly sufficient 
quantities or low enough prices. Only the English were in a 
position to do that; so the English got busy. By 1855 their 
exports were almost double what they had been in 1850. 

The French, too, got busy. They were not up to much as 
makers of humble wares, but when it came to fineries they 
were peerless. No other people could match their silks, jewels, 
scents, and ornaments. And now there was a new and vora- 
cious market for such elegancies. Miners on a spree in San 
Francisco liked to lavish fancy things on their fancy ladies ; 
bankers in Philadelphia felt it their duty to swill champagne. 
The French found reason to get very busy. 

So did the Belgians. They had carpets to sell, and laces, 
crystals, and fine linens ; also coal and iron. The Dutch, too, 
got busy, for they had many ships to carry freight across 
the seas, and also well-grounded banks to handle exchange. 
Ultimately even the Germans, the Austrians, the Italians 
started to get busy. 

It did indeed appear to be the dawn of the "Golden Age," 
and those who basked in the aureate glow felt wonderful. 
Their triumph was not complete yet, but it looked secure 
now, absolutely secure. The world, it seemed, lay all before 


the middle-class folk, for them to make it over as they alone 
thought best. The glories once mourned by Isaiah were to be 
restored at last : merchants were to be princes, and traffick- 
ers the lords of the earth. 

Was that good? Yes on the whole. Merchants and traf- 
fickers might have their grave limitations, yet as a class they 
were far above those whom they supplanted. Though they 
could see no farther than their noses, at least they were not 
always looking toward their behinds. What they lacked in 
tradition they more than made up in grit and enterprise. 
True, they were prevailingly crude, and their rise brought 
on a reign of ineffable vulgarity. They strutted, they 
splurged, they wallowed in immoderation. Whatever was 
bigger seemed to them better ; the more showy a thing the 
more they thought it fine. They loved to clutter their dwell- 
ings with bric-a-brac and junk, loved to heap every inch of 
space with trophies of their money-chase. Floors sagged be- 
neath the weight of monstrous statuary and crowded furni- 
ture ; walls seemed ready to cave in beneath their burden of 
paintings and tapestries. Thick curtains of velours covered 
every window affording a vista; tasseled portieres reeking 
of camphor barricaded every open door. Books too dull to 
read were armored in bindings too heavy to hold and dis- 
played on tables too rickety to support even one elbow. 
Everything was overcarved, overpadded, overgilded, over- 
done. It was as though the highest ideal of this new ruling 
class was to domicile itself in warehouses. 

The ostentation was worse than vulgar ; fundamentally it 
was dishonest. These parvenus seemed bent on making every- 
thing look grander, solider, at least costlier than it really 
was. Plaster was fixed up to pass for marble, glass for onyx, 
papier-mache for precious wood. The rubber plant in the bay 
window was actually made of hemp and canvas ; the fruit out 


the mantelpiece was really painted soap. Even the proud 
posterior of the hostess was nothing but cotton-wadding. No 
object was too humble to escape romantic fakery. The 
butter-knife masqueraded as a Turkish dagger, the umbrella- 
stand as a knight in armor, the boot-scraper as a sleeping 

The yearning for pretension was so intense that it invaded 
even the workshops. Boilers were ornamented with Doric 
columns, wheels with tin posies, treadles with cast-iron vines. 
All life seemed one frenzied hunger for make-believe. 

But that was to be expected. The burghers as a class were 
as yet too unsure of themselves to dare be themselves. Try as 
they might, they could not shake off a sense of inferiority. 
The trouble was that they had barely arrived in their Zion ; 
they were not yet at home in it. Their whole conduct was so 
lacking in grace because the world had not yet accorded 
them that which the word grace had meant originally 
namely, "welcome-" 

It was merely a phase, however. There had been a time 
when the nobility too had been boorish. Indeed, for long cen- 
turies that class had been positively bestial. It is significant 
that our very earliest record of the word "gentleman" as a 
token of rank occurs in an indictment dated 1413 which 
reads : 

"Bobert Erdeswyke of Stafford^ gentilman^ . . . charged with 
housebreaking, wounding with intent to kill, and procuring the 
murder of one Thomas Page,, who was cut to pieces while on his 
knees begging for his life/* 

If the nobility could outgrow that sort of thing, surely 
there was hope for the bourgeoisie. 

All that the upstarts needed was time. Endowed as they 
already were with money, brains, and enterprise, once granted 


time, they were bound to improve. Moreover and this was 
the important point the bulk of mankind was bound to im- 
prove with them. Businessmen could hardly do what priests 
and soldiers had so often done: raise themselves to the status 
of an aloof and exclusive caste. The very nature of their 
economy dictated that they could thrive off society only in 
the measure that they strove for it. Consequently, they were 
at least for the present like a locomotive coupled to its 
tender, like an army bound to its supply-train. Businessmen 
could not really get ahead unless they dragged along all 

Actually, they had already dragged it an enormous dis- 
tance. Thanks to their insensate urge to multiply machines, 
they had provided the race with almost limitless means to 
health, wealth, and power. They had given man bowels of fire 
and sinews of steel, endowing him with potential might to 
make all Nature do his bidding. 

Nor was that the whole of their achievement. More prow- 
ess called for more freedom, and this too the upstarts had 
wrested for mankind. Consider these achievements 

Item, they had blasted the very foundations of feudal des- 
potism, and set up a new order based on equal rights for all 
who could grab them. Item, they had completely overturned 
politics, converting the state from an effective agency of re- 
straint into an ostensible guarantor of liberty. Item, they 
had uprooted millions of laborers from the swamps of rural 
doltishness, and turned them loose in towns to learn a more 
galvanic way of life- Item, they had provided women with 
means of support outside the home, and therewith cracked 
the main prop of the age-old tyranny of male over female. 
Item, they had created an imperative need for wider literacy 
workers simply had to be able to read, even if it was only 
the signs which declared, "No loitering here!" and thus 


they had assured the eventual establishment of universal edu- 
cation. Item, they had laced up whole continents with rails 
and wires, and bridged wide seas with cables and steamboat 
lines. Item, they had carried commerce to the remotest fast- 
nesses, and rumor of civilization to the wildest tribes. 

These were colossal, world-shaking achievements. They 
provided, as has already been said, the first real chance of 
attaining Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, and all the other 
ideals that noble philosophers had exalted, and brave revolu- 
tionists had espoused. In effect they pushed back the night 
and readied the earth for the dawn of a totally new era. 

Of course, very few of the men who wrought those achieve- 
ments had any idea of what they were really doing. All they 
knew, and indeed all they cared to know, was that they them- 
selves were getting ahead. And this lack of vision, though 
natural enough, was a grievous defect. It explains why so 
much pain and confusion accompanied the achievements. It 
accounts for the thoughtless cruelties that so many capital- 
ists visited on their hirelings, and for the needless distresses 
that all of them inflicted on themselves. The booms and 
slumps, the strikes and hunger marches, the filth, the ugli- 
ness, the insane spoliation these and most of the other hor- 
rors of the period were directly due to that shortsightedness. 
The capitalists refused to look beyond their noses, and 
darted after gain as bees dart for nectar blindly. 

But, for all that, their rise was a blessing to mankind. 
Like the bees, they wrought better than they knew, scatter- 
ing pollen wherever they moved, and robbing only to enrich 
the world they ransacked. Whether they would function thus 
throughout the future was still uncertain, but none could 
deny that they had functioned thus up to now. 

No man living in that day loathed the capitalists more 
lushly than did that German philosopher whose name has al- 


ready been mentioned, Karl Mars ; yet even lie had to give 
them their due. Said he : 

"The bourgeoisie, during its reign of scarce one hundred years, 
has brought forth more massive and more colossal creative forces 
than have all the preceding generations put together." 

He was right. 

But, as we shall see, Karl Marx had other things to say 
about the bourgeoisie, and in at least one of them he was 
equally right. It was that they were better able to bring 
forth forces than control them. That was why their whole 
career thus far had been marked by incessant mishaps. Each 
advance had ended in a crash, each spurt in a headlong 
sprawl. And this, said Mars, would continue. What had hap- 
pened in 1816, and in 1825, 1837, and 1847, would happen 
again. It was inevitable. 

The good capitalists ignored him. Perhaps it was just as 
well, for had they weighed his words they might have been 
tempted to silence him for good. They themselves had abso- 
lutely no misgivings as to what lay in store for the world. 
The drunken boast first uttered in America in 1849 had be- 
come a sober truth to them by now: this was the "Golden 
Age." And it was here to stay. California seemed full of gold, 
so there could never again be a scarcity of cash; and the 
world seemed to be filling up with freedom, so there could 
never again be political interference. Prosperity, therefore, 
seemed assured forever and aye. The capitalists were ready 
to bet on it. 

They did bet on it. 

And they lost. 


Out of a clear sky in the summer of 1857 a rocketing trust 
company in Cincinnati blew up in debts. It was not much of 
a disaster, but coming so abruptly it created sharp alarm. 
The very next day many a depositor in New York ran to see 
if his own bank was safe. He saw and was satisfied, but never- 
theless withdrew his money. It seemed prudent to do that 
just in case. But when more depositors did the same on the 
second day, and still more on the third, things began to look 
bad. Those New York banks, like all the others in the land, 
had been over-optimistic. They had loaned out so much 
money that they were $12,000,000 short of cash. Within a 
week they had to close their doors. 

Boston was next. Then Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Chicago, 
Montreal. The clatter of closing doors became so loud that 
it was heard three thousand miles away in London. British 
capital was heavily invested in the United States, and the 
brokers on the Royal Exchange grew jumpy. They kept up 
a bold front before strangers, but to their intimate clients 
they whispered: " s e i i i Soon everybody was selling, 
and not alone American securities, but British ones too. 

The Times lumbered into action, solemnly informing its 
readers that the financial situation had never been sounder 
than right now. At this, like a rude punctuation mark, a 
bank blew up in Glasgow. The next day banks started to blow 
up all over Great Britain. Within a month they were blowing 
up in Paris, Amsterdam, Hamburg, and Stockholm. 

And Karl Marx, having prophesied it all, smacked his lips. 



AKL MARX smacked Ms lips. He 
was ill at the time, his wife was ill, 
and he had no money to pay the 
rent. Nevertheless he was full of 
ghoulish glee. "I have not felt so 
cozy since 1849," he wrote to his 
closest friend. 

That was just lite the man: al- 
ways perverse. Even in appear- 
ance he seemed perverse, especially in England, which was 
where he was living now. He was short, chunky, and very 



professorial-looting in a snuffy German way, with a huge 
head framed in a thick forest of beard, and small red-lidded 
eyes that flared defiantly. His clothes were always thread- 
bare and stained, and he usually wore them as though he had 
flung them on in the dark. He could rarely converse without 
disagreeing, and rarely disagree without growing disagree- 
able. He could be tender when he forgot himself, but most of 
the time he snapped and barked. Perhaps that was because 
his spiritual underpinning was all askew. He had been born 
a Jew, baptized a Christian, and become an atheist. Or per- 
haps it was because he was sickly. His stomach was weak, his 
liver unmanageable, his nerves were jangled, and he suffered 
from boils. 

But Karl Marx rates a chapter in our tale because, no 
matter what his defects, he had ideas. And what ideas ! At 
a time when capitalism was just coming into its own, he kept 
insisting that it was already doomed. 

Here was his argument. The sole aim of capitalism is to 
increase profits, and therefore its constant effort is to reduce 
costs. This leads to two stratagems, the first and most ob- 
vious of which is to force each laborer to do more work for 
less pay. That maneuver, however, can be carried just so 
far and no farther. Laborers are merely human, and if 
driven too hard will either die or rebel. Consequently the 
capitalists have to resort to a second stratagem: they must 
install more machinery. But even that has its drawbacks. 
New machines throw men out of work, and until those men 
can find other jobs, they are unable to do much spending. 
Moreover, even when they do find other jobs, they can still 
hardly do much spending, for they are in no position to 
haggle over the wages they are offered. Usually they are glad 
if they can get enough to keep themselves and their depend- 
ents alive. Therefore the installation of new machinery solves 


one problem only to create another. The capitalists equip 
themselves to produce more goods, but leave proportionately 
fewer people able to buy them. 

And that, said Marx, was why capitalism had no future* 
There was a crucial flaw In the system: the farther it was 
pushed, the more it had to frustrate itself. True, it had man- 
aged to work thus far, but only because it had been enjoying 
its springtide. Even at that, it had already had its bad mo- 
ments. Over and over again it had run into crises : financial 
panics, industrial breakdowns, social prostrations. And it 
was fated to continue to suffer such crises progressively 
worse ones, too for they were not just strokes of bad luck. 
They were part and parcel of the system itself. So long as 
production was made to gallop and consumption to crawl, so 
long were breakdowns absolutely unavoidable. Production 
simply had to stall periodically in order to let consumption 
catch up. 

But that sort of thing could not continue indefinitely. 
Those periodic crises tended to make the structure more and 
more top-heavy, since they kept battering the smaller cap- 
italists and fattening the big ones. The latter were able to 
buy up bankrupt plants at bargain prices when times were 
bad, and thus they put themselves in a position to corner 
more business when times got good again. It followed, there- 
fore, that eventually the big capitalists would be doing al- 
most all the business and then their tactics would necessar- 
ily change. They would become monopolists. They would see 
that they had nothing more to gain by the disorder born of 
"free enterprise," so instead of continuing to compete, they 
would begin to combine. In other words, they would seek to 
end .the economic chaos by congealing it. They would form 
super-trusts to regulate production and stabilize prices 
and guarantee profits. And thus, having begun by looking no 


farther than their own noses, they would end by filling noth- 
ing but their own months. Ultimately the capitalists would 
start to imitate the feudal tyrants whom they had once 
hounded from power. They in turn would become in a literal 
sense the lords the "bread keepers. 3 * 

But, Marx hastened to add, that too would not last. "Ac- 
cumulation of wealth at one pole," he explained, would be 
"matched by accumulation of hunger, hardship, slavery, ig- 
norance, brutality, and mental degradation at the other." 
And such a situation could not possibly endure. True, there 
had always been gross inequality among men, and in the past 
it had been maintained without much difficulty. That, how- 
ever, proved nothing. Conditions were different now, for the 
Machine had come into the world, and the Machine made a 
reign of oppression at once easier to start but harder to sus- 
tain. For the victims were less scattered than in former times. 
They were no longer poor peasants who lived lost in lonely 
villages; they were townsfolk. They lived in packs, were 
lashed in packs, got overworked and underpaid and kicked 
around in packs. That did something to them. It encouraged 
them to howl in packs. It taught them to band together in 
unions, brotherhoods, confederations and fight. 

This process had already started, and it was bound to 
continue. At present even the most militant workers were 
content to fight like guerillas, turning now on one employer, 
now on another. Or they came shuffling up to the govern- 
ments, hat in hand, and meekly begged for drop-in-the-bucket 
reforms. This, however, would cease after a while. The nearer 
capitalism approached its logical conclusion in the triumph 
of a few monopolists, the more clearly would the oppressed 
see the need for tougher tactics. By that time their ranks 
would include not merely born workers, real proletarians, but 
also many people from the bourgeois class. There would be 


bankrupt shopkeepers among them, and ruined millwrights, 
jobless technicians, and land-robbed farmers. Above all many 
intellectuals would join them: men like Marx who had "raised 
themselves to the level of comprehending theoretically the 
historical movement as a whole." That would mean better 
leadership for the masses. The new recruits, though brought 
down to the level of the mere "hands," would have heads 
and know how to use them. 

Then the real fight would begin. No more pleading and 
nagging, no more furtive agitation and futile sabotage. This 
would be the works. 

War would break out along a front gashed clear across 
the face of society. On that side would stand the owners, on 
this the owned, and between the two a struggle would ensue 
which could have only one possible outcome. The owners 
would be swallowed up! The whole institution of private 
property would be liquidated, and with it would go all the 
economic anarchy, social tyranny, moral hypocrisy, and re- 
ligious cant which that institution had so lavishly fostered. 

And then? Then mankind would be free at last. With the 
bourgeoisie gone, no class would be left to usurp privilege 
and arouse resentment. Only the masses would remain, and 
they would proceed to establish their own institutions. Just 
as the aristocracy had brought forth feudalism, just as the 
plutocracy had brought forth capitalism, just so would this, 
the ultimate democracy, bring forth Communism ! 

Such, in the crudest outline, was Karl Marx's gospel. Nat- 
urally, he himself did not call it that. He was ready to grant 
indeed, he was scornfully insistent that other critics of 
capitalism preached gospels. But not he. They were uplif ters, 
but he was an upheaver. Proof? They kept talking about 
what ought to happen, whereas he showed what must happen. 


They staked all their predictions on faith, hope, and charity, 
whereas he staked his solely on what he considered strict 

That was why he preferred to call himself a "communist" 
rather than a socialist. He did not want to be confused with 
men like Robert Owen and Saint-Simon, apostles guided more 
by their hearts than their heads. According to those men, the 
chief objection to the capitalist system was that it was cruel, 
and their dearest hope was that the capitalist class would 
itself some day be moved to adopt a kindlier one. "Uto- 
pians !" Marx called them with a curling lip. "They dream of 
establishing castles in the air . . . pocket editions of the New 
Jerusalem. 5 * 

He himself claimed not to give a hang whether capitalism 
was morally defensible. All he asked was whether it was eco- 
nomically workable. And, since his calculations proved the 
answer to be emphatically No, that settled the matter. Why 
wish or weep for the bourgeoisie to relent? Better goad the 
proletariat to revolt. 

And Marx set out to do just that. "Thus far," said he, 
"philosophers have been content merely to interpret the 
world. The task now is to change it." So he devoted himself 
to rhetoric as well as logic ; he became an agitator as well as 
a theoretician. At the age of twenty-four, having written 
himself out of a job as a liberal journalist in Cologne, he 
moved to Paris, where he turned into an active radical. De- 
ported a year later, he moved to Brussels, and there he and 
another brash young German, Friedrich Engels, proceeded 
to draw up a manifesto calling for world revolution. The 
Panic of 1847 was at its height just then, and they felt the 
time was ripe for such a call. They entitled the screed The 
Commwnist Manifesto. 

It was a brilliant document, clear, compact, and blast- 


ingly vehement. It opened with a staggering boast: "A 
specter is hatmting Europe the specter of Communism. 39 
And, ten thousand words later, it closed with a roaring chal- 
lenge: "The proletarians have nothing to lose but their 
chains. They have a world to win. Workers of aU countries, 

Those words were written in December 1847, and was it 
mere coincidence? hardly had they reached the printer when 
some workers actually did begin to unite. They threw up 
barricades in the streets of Paris and roared, "Vive la Revo- 

Marx was beside himself when he heard the news. Now it 
was coming, he thought. The French uprising was a con- 
fused affair; few of the workers seemed to know what they 
were fighting for. He felt he must tell them at once. Not 
waiting even for his wife to pack, he rushed off to Paris, 

Once there, however, he was swiftly disillusioned. Not even 
the leaders, let alone the rank and file, would listen to him. 
He decided to move on to Germany, where the insurrection- 
ary movement was as yet less advanced. There, he felt, he 
would have better luck. Engels j oined him, as did a number 
of other Germans who had become converted to the com- 
munist cause while in exile. Throughout the "Mad Year" of 
1848 they went storming up and down their native land, 
shouting to the workers to make this their revolution. It 
would not be enough, they cried, to destroy feudalism. Capi- 
talism too must go even though it had barely come yet in 
that country. 

But the German workers were relatively few, and almost 
as difficult to convince as those in France. Far from winning 
them over to the red revolution, Marx and his cohorts simply 
scared the burghers into black counter-revolution. 


The next year Marx was once more in flight. Completely 
penniless now his aristocratic wife had to pawn the last of 
her family plate to pay the fare the fugitive was forced to 
take refuge in England. The bourgeoisie he so hated had 
made that country the world's stronghold of liberalism, so 
he knew he would be safe there. Settling his family in two 
dingy rooms in a London slum, he got himself a visitor's 
card to the British Museum. The Reading Room there was 
quiet and full of books, and these were his chief needs now. 
He was through with agitation for the present. "A new 
revolution/ 5 he told his comrades, "can come only with a 
new crisis. 9 ' Meantime there would have to be another boom, 
and while that lasted he intended to devote himself to re- 
search. He dreamed of writing a monumental treatise giving 
all the philosophical, historical, and economic reasons why 
capitalism could not possibly survive. 

Day in and day out he repaired to the Museum, and from 
ten to seven remained buried, beard and all, in notes. Occa- 
sionally he took time off to write articles for liberal news- 
papers, especially the New York Tribime, which was then 
edited by Horace Greeley, an avowed socialist. At long inter- 
vals he delivered lectures before small crowds of radical 
workmen. For the rest, he subsisted off the charity of the 
ever faithful Engels, who had taken a post in one of his 
father's cotton-mills in Manchester. 

It was a sad existence. More than once the family had 
nothing to eat for days save bread and potatoes. Periodi- 
cally Marx had to pawn his overcoat to pay the rent. Yet 
he refused to abandon his" research. He dearly loved his wife 
and children, but he insisted that the Cause came first. This 
may seem strange, seeing that the man claimed to be an out- 
and-out materialist, believing neither in God nor in the 
soul. Nevertheless, that was how he behaved. 


During eight long years he continued patiently to pile up 
notes ; then, in the summer of 1857, he began to write furi- 
ously. The crisis he had so long predicted had come at last, 
and he wanted to get at least one volume done before he 
was called back to the barricades. For he was utterly sure 
that this time the Revolution would come. 

Engels was equally sure of it. Gleefully he reported from 

"The general aspect of the Exchange here has been altogether 
delicious this past week. The [businessmen] grow black in the 
face. ... I hear the Cookes., owners of the colossal factory on Ox- 
ford Road, have sold their foxhounds. . . . [Another] has dis- 
charged his servants and put a 'To Let* sign on his palace." 

Engels himself had lost his money in the crash, but that 
made him feel all the better. "The bourgeois filth of the last 
seven years ... is washed off, and I am another man again." 
As proof he confided that he was devoting all his time to the 
study of military tactics I 

And Marx, hearing these tidings, felt the blood pound in 
his veins. It was coming nowl At last, he gloated, at last 
it was coming! 

But he was fooled. 



ARX was fooled. What he had 
hoped would be the beginning of 
the end of capitalism, proved 
merely to be more of the end of its 
beginning. A revolution did come 
after 1857 5 but it was quite unlike 
the sort he had looked for. It was 
confined at first to the United 
States, and instead of toppling 
the bourgeois tyrants," it actually set them more firmly on 
their thrones. Eventually he himself recognized it as a revo- 



lution; but at first, like everybody else, he called it merely 
the American Civil War. 

Today we can see that it was much more than that. The 
ordeal which beset the United States in 1861 was related to 
the upheaval on the Continent in 1848, and to the spasm 
which shook England in 1832. In a veiled and confused yet 
crucial way it, too, was a test of strength between the indus- 
trial way of life and the agrarian. 

When the Machine first reached this country it took root 
in the North, and there alone was it able to make even small 
headway. The ruling elements in the South were inclined to 
despise the innovation, for they had black slaves to do their 
hard labor. In this they were merely repeating history. The 
slave-owners in ancient Greece had had a similar attitude 
toward machinery ; so had the slave-owners in ancient Rome 
and China and Mexico. These, it must be realized, had not 
lacked the cunning to invent mechanical devices. We know 
that because they did invent quite a number of them. To 
cite but one instance, a Greek mathematician named Hero, 
who lived in the First Century, actually built a working 
steam-engine complete with cylinder, piston, valves, and 
clacks. But did it occur to him to put the contraption to 
practical use? It did not. Instead he installed it in a temple 
to amaze the worshippers by the way it worked the doors. 

That was typical. The clock and the compass, gunpowder 
and the printing press these were all invented in relatively 
ancient times. Yet until relatively modern times they were 
kept mere playthings. Ingenious patricians with time on 
their hands were continually thinking up cunning devices ; 
but never with the idea of applying them to save toil. They 
themselves did not toil, neither did any of their friends. They 
had slaves for that. So why bother? 

And that was precisely the attitude of the white gentry 


who ran the South. In their eyes an interest in machinery 
was vulgar. 

In the North, however, the very opposite held true. Bond- 
age had long since been outlawed in that section, in part 
because for climatic and other reasons it had too obviously 
failed to pay. Having no slave-labor, the Northerners had 
naturally been forced to try to save labor. Since this could be 
done more easily in industry than In agriculture, there had 
been an equally natural compulsion to favor the factory over 
the farm. The great boom of the 1850's was almost entirely 
confined to the North, and it equipped that region with so 
much new machinery that it was able to manufacture six 
times as much merchandise as the South. As a result the 
interests of the North, especially New England, became in- 
creasingly wrapped up in the fortunes of industrialism. 

But, as the collapse of that boom had revealed, those for- 
tunes were maddeningly insecure. When the Panic of 1857 
finally waned, and the Yankee industrialists began to pick 
themselves up from the dust, there was blood in their eyes. 
They felt they had been betrayed. For years they had been 
complaining that their foreign rivals had them at too great 
a disadvantage especially the British, who were better 
heeled financially, better equipped mechanically, better es- 
tablished in the world markets, and freer to pay low wages. 
For years, therefore, those Yankees had been pleading with 
Congress to come to their aid. Specifically, they had asked 
it to do these things: first, build high tariff walls to keep 
out cheap foreign merchandise; second, lower all immigra- 
tion bars so as to allow the importation of the cheapest for- 
eign labor ; third, increase the subsidies to shippers who car- 
ried American merchandise overseas; fourth, advance more 
generous loans to men who offered to extend the railroads ; 
fifth, create one stable national currency to replace the pres- 


ent seven thousand varieties of unstable state bank notes ; 
and sixth, free all the blacks so that they, too, might have 
at least a little cash to spend. 

But the Southerners had opposed that program to a 
(white) man. Moreover, being superior politicians, they had 
always been able to make Congress vote their way. Now, 
however, the Northerners had their dander up. Throwing 
caution to the winds, they forged a political alliance with 
the radical farmers in the West, and elected a cagy frontier 
lawyer named Abraham Lincoln to the Presidency. Where- 
upon, there was war. 

The Southerners decided to secede from the Union. They 
felt they would rather have half a continent of their own 
than a whole one run by damn Yankees. For those South- 
erners had never become real nationalists. Like agrarians 
everywhere else, their outlook had remained essentially pro- 
vincial. Their minds were a little like the trees amid which 
they dwelt moss-hung and as a result they could not see 
very far. They believed that a citizen's first loyalty be- 
longed not so much to his country as to his immediate coun- 

The Northerners, however, had acquired a wider outlook. 
They realized that the United States could never become 
great unless it stayed big. The South with its capacity to 
produce raw materials and consume manufactured goods 
was absolutely essential to the nation's well-being. There- 
fore, rather than let that region secede, they were ready to 
lay it waste. 

They did and grew rich in the process. No sooner was 
the first gun fired at Fort Sumter than the entire North 
re-echoed with a thunderous "Boom!" The war started a 
frantic rise in production, for never before had there been 
such ferocious consumption. And that gave the Northern 


industrialists their chance. With the Government furnishing 
the capital, and patriotism the incentive, they rushed to lay 
hold of more and more machinery. Had the Southern plant- 
ers lain awake nights worrying 1 how best to help their worst 
enemies, they could not possibly have improved on what they 
did when they invited that war. 

At the time it was called the "Civil War," and later this 
somewhat sinister name was softened to the 'War between 
the States." In effect, however, it was the "Second American 
Revolution." The first had secured the triumph of repub- 
licanism on these shores; this insured the triumph of in- 

For the boom, did not end with the carnage. The Yankees 
had attended to politics as well as business during the war, 
and had succeeded in putting their entire economic program 
on the nation's law-books. An obliging Congress had built 
towering tariff walls, legalized coolie-labor, reformed the 
banking system, made the public treasury a trough, and 
turned the black men into cash customers. So there was 
every reason for the boom to continue. 

Great years ensued for America, wondrous years full of 
furious toil and fabulous achievement. An iron tAck was 
laid clear to the Pacific, and hundreds of thousands of farm- 
ers, miners, trulls, and gamblers sallied forth to gouge the 
earth and one another. Silver and gold were discovered in 
Nevada, and copper in northern Michigan. So many new 
iron deposits were uncovered around Lake Superior that the 
total output of the metal more than doubled within ten 
years. The output of coal almost quadrupled within that 
same period, and the output of steel increased precisely a 
hundredfold. Petroleum was belatedly found to be good for 
illumination as well as snake-bites, and a thousand farms in 


western Pennsylvania suddenly bristled with derricks and 
pumps. Myriads of new factories raised fuming throats to 
the sky, and tens of myriads of new stores hung out "Open 
for Business" signs. In San Francisco a "Palace Hotel" was 
built containing eight hundred rooms, seven hundred and 
fifty-five toilets, and nine thousand cuspidors. 
Yankee Doodle had gone to town. 


OCTOR MARX had erred. What 
he had diagnosed as the death- 
pangs of capitalism proved to be 
merely more of its growing-pains. 
The system reacted to the shock 
of 1857 as it had to all the earlier 
ones, stumbling only to recover 
and go racing faster than before. 
This happened not alone in the 
United States. In Germany, too, the money-minded elements 
were now goaded to make a final bid for power. And there 
too they triumphed. 



But not as completely. The German go-getters did get 
much of what they wanted, but hardly in the way they 
wanted It. Unhappily for them and, as it turned out, even 
more unhappily for the whole world the feudal spirit was 
peculiarly virile in Germany, and it was able to bring forth 
at this critical juncture a supremely virulent man. His name 
was Otto Eduard Leopold von Bismarck, and he was what 
was called a Junker that is, a descendant of those medie- 
val jwnge Herren ("young lords") who had hacked their 
way eastward and colonized the Slavic borderlands. 

The typical Junker was a sinewy, bull-necked, bear- 
tempered gentleman who seemed to live only to fight, hunt, 
drink, and keep his estate intact. He was at once sentimen- 
tal and insensitive, conventional and profligate, shrewd yet 
slow-witted. Bismarck shared all these traits except the last. 
Perhaps that was because he was only half a Junker. His 
mother was a city-bred woman, and came of a family of pro- 
fessors and civil servants. But unfortunately he grew up to 
hate her, and the intelligence she passed on to him served 
only to help him balk all that she represented. 

He spent four years at a good university, where he devoted 
himself diligently to duelling, drinking, and the other stud- 
ies deemed suited for a young Junker. In these he achieved 
a notable record, and was rewarded at the age of twenty-one 
with an appointment in the Prussian diplomatic service. 
Finding the work uncongenial, he soon resigned and went 
home to take over the management of the family estate. For 
eight years he lived the riotous life of a maverick country 
squire, only to be thrown at last by a pious young lady, har- 
nessed in marriage, and converted into a model family man. 
Domesticity's gain was humanity's loss. Thenceforth Bis- 
marck vented his wilfulness in politics. 

His purpose was clear almost from the beginning. It was 


to create a greater Germany for the greater glory of his own 
reactionary class. This was no light undertaking, for thus 
far the idea of political expansion had appealed only to pro- 
gressives. Most of the landowners were lumpishly provincial 
in their outlook, and preferred to keep Germany a collection 
of petty states. It was the burghers who favored the cause 
of "nationalism, 5 * in part because they as a class had most to 
gain if that cause triumphed. They would be freer to manu- 
facture what and how they pleased, since they would no 
longer be under the thumb of local princelings. Also they 
would be able to sell farther afield, since they would no 
longer be hampered by provincial frontiers. Again, they 
would be in a better position to resist competition from 
abroad, for they would cease to be so divided among them- 
selves. Finally, they might even be able to cope with disaf- 
fection at home. 

This last item was particularly important. Most of the 
German laborers had been serfs until yesterday, and the 
abrupt shift to free life in raw factory settlements seemed to 
be affecting them with peculiar intensity. They were grow- 
ing insolent. What they needed, plainly enough, was some 
sort of pious distraction, some safe enthusiasm like that 
which Christianity had once been able to provide. For that 
religion, being a product of the past, had lost much of its 
influence in this new^ day. Laborers who worked amid modern 
machines were hard to awe with tales of ancient miracles. 
People who had to live in slums were hard to scare witli 
threats of Hell. What was needed, therefore, was a new 

That was where nationalism came in. It seemed just what 
the situation called for, since it appealed to the most primi- 
tive emotions and yet was as up-to-date as a steam-train. 
Once a worker succumbed to it, he ceased to think of himself 


as anything but a citizen. He identified himself not with his 
class but with his nation, and docilely agreed that he and his 
employer, beings sons of one Fatherland, were brothers* 
That made him safe. 

So the burghers had very practical reasons for favoring 
nationalism. In addition, however, they had even more com- 
pelling spiritual ones. They learnt these usually from their 
sons who attended the universities and heard erudite dis- 
courses on the <c heroic German spirit, 5 ' the "eternal German 
soul," and so forth. There had been a swelling flood of such 
talk in the country ever since the time Napoleon had tem- 
porarily reduced it to a parade ground for his troops. A 
very learned, very virtuous, and very wordy professor of 
philosophy named Johann Gottlieb Fichte had arisen then 
and delivered a series of addresses which were destined to 
become a new Holy Writ in certain intellectual circles. The 
essence of Fichte* s preachment might be summed up in the 
statement that though he doubted the existence of God, he 
was sure that the Germans were His chosen people. They 
alone, he insisted, spoke a really "pure" language, had cre- 
ated a "genuine" art, and were capable of comprehending 
"true" philosophy. Whereas the spirit of other peoples was 
at best comparable to a bumbling bee, 

"the German spirit is an eagle whose mighty body thrusts itself 
on high and soars on strong and well-practiced wing into the 
empyrean^ that it may come ever nearer the sun whereon it de- 
lights to gaze/* 

Fichte was appallingly successful. Pouring a thimbleful 
of fact into a gallon of prejudice, adding a fistful of meta- 
physical terms and mixing in plenty of metaphors, he had 
stirred briskly and served piping-hot. And educated Ger- 
mans learned to drink themselves berserk on the stuff. 


The whole development, it should be realized, marked a 
sharp break with the past. As recently as the Eighteenth 
Century most German intellectuals had looked down on na- 
tionalism. Their ideal had been cosmopolitanism. One of the 
greatest of them, the poet Schiller, had cried: "Germans, 
don't try to be a nation ! Be content to be human being* !" 
And his words were widely echoed then. 

But in the Eighteenth Century most intellectuals had 
been aristocrats, at least in spirit, whereas now most of 
them were brazenly bourgeois. Now they were usually the 
sons of prosperous burghers, and like their fathers they 
had sound practical reasons for favoring nationalism. The 
triumph of that cause promised to enrich them with the 
choice plums of officialdom which at present were still re- 
served for the sons of noblemen. The would-be bureaucrats 
therefore had a definite economic stake in nationalism. How- 
ever, they rarely mentioned that. 

Most of them, indeed, were not even conscious of it. They 
honestly believed that their patriotic fervor sprang pure 
and undefiled from the deepest depths of their ineffable Ger- 
man souls. And this, it must be said, was equally true of 
their fathers. Nationalism was no deliberately perpetrated 
fraud. Had it been, it could neither have spread nor have en- 
dured. Fundamentally it was as innocent as the measles. 

Now Bismarck was obviously no proper Junker, or he would 
have opposed nationalism on principle. Being an improper 
one, however, he had intelligence enough to see that any such 
opposition was doomed. The whole trend of civilization was 
toward nationalism. Therefore he set out to do what seemed 
to him the next best thing: capture the trend and divert its 
course. Thus far nationalism had been a distinctly liberal 
influence. It had sought to widen men's horizons, lengthen 
their tethers, emancipate their minds. That was why its loud- 


est advocates thus far had always been the progressives, the 
people who believed in Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, Democ- 
racy, Machinery, and every other portent of progress. Na- 
tionalism spelled freedom to such folk, for it opened a way 
of escape out of provincial confinement. 

Bismarck made up his mind to change all that and he 
succeeded. His opportunity came when, after fourteen years 
of patient political climbing, he was appointed Prime Minis- 
ter of Prussia. At once he set about enlarging the army, for 
his whole scheme hinged on force. "Not by speeches or ma- 
jority resolutions can the important questions of the day 
be decided, but by blood and iron!" Those were his words 
the very week he took office, and he lost no time in proving 
that he meant them. First (1864) he ganged up with Aus- 
tria to pounce on Denmark and filch the duchies of Schles- 
wig and Holstein. Then (1866) he turned on Austria, and 
throttled it into agreeing to Prussian suzerainty over most 
of northern Germany. Finally (1870) he welcomed a war 
with France, and in the heat of it welded Prussian rivets on 
all the rest of the land. 

Thus Germany emerged a political unit at last. What 
countless burghers had failed to accomplish in sixty years, 
one Junker managed to do in six. The various kingdoms, 
duchies, and city-states had all been made part of one Em- 
pire, and there were no longer internal tariffs to impede the 
flow of commerce, or internal passports to restrict the drift 
of labor. There was a uniform currency now, a uniform sys- 
tem of weights and measures and also a uniform conscript 
army. Germany was a real nation at last. 

But not the sort of nation the burghers had dreamed of. 
Instead of its existing for them, they were told they existed 
for it. This Germany was not Liberal but Conservative, not 
humanitarian but militaristic, not an ostensible democracy 


but a gloved despotism. At bottom and even more on top 
it was one vast Junkerdom. 

The burghers did not like that. 

But most of them grew reconciled in time. Though they 
continued to oppose Bismarck throughout his long term in 
office twenty-eight years their vehemence waned steadily. 
One can understand why. They began to see that, despite 
himself, Bismarck was really helping them. 

His policy of blood and iron kept increasing the need for 
coal and iron. Moreover, it kept providing the means to fill 
that need. Bismarck had extorted a billion-dollar fine from 
the French, and that had meant so much fresh capital for 
German economic expansion. Also he had seized Alsace and 
Lorraine, one a store of machine equipment and the other a 
mine of metal resources. German industrialism could really 
begin to flourish after that. 

Now the German industrialists had the advantage once 
enjoyed by the British: they were building last, and there- 
fore could build best. They were free to adopt the most ad- 
vanced techniques and install the very latest machinery. In 
addition they possessed a certain advantage all their own: 
they were forced to build as nationals rather than as indi- 
viduals. Germany, thanks in part to Bismarck, had never 
been allowed to succumb to the doctrine of laissez-faire. Its 
government was still authoritarian, and private enterprise 
was still subject to public control. And this, though irksome 
to the enterprisers, proved in the long run distinctly help- 
ful. It clamped brakes on murderous competition and sui- 
cidal speculation. If profits were less spectacular, they were 
also less unstable. 

Nor was that all. Much as the German government might 
control capital, it controlled labor even more. To be sure, it 
also made an effort to care for labor, insuring all workers 


against sickness and unemployment, and paying them pen- 
sions in old age. Bismarck had discovered that such benevo- 
lences were highly prudent. They stole part of the thunder 
from the socialists, and thus short-circuited their lightning. 
The German workers were led to believe that they were true 
children of the Fatherland, not stepchildren* Thus they were 
encouraged to be loyal and docile. The thought of rebel- 
lion grew so shocking to them that they became reluctant 
even to strike. 

That was immensely pleasing to the German capitalists. 
It convinced some of them that Bismarck, though hardly 
their friend, was yet their ally. And this conviction was 
sound, for at the same time that he protected their rear he 
also cleared a path for their advance. He fostered scientific 
research at state expense, and thus assured them of a con- 
stant supply of new inventions. He forced through legisla- 
tion to raise the tariff walls, and therewith "protected" the 
domestic markets. He encouraged every member of his diplo- 
matic staff to be a tacit commercial agent, and by such 
means helped German goods invade the foreign field. Above 
all, he maintained a supremely powerful army, and with it 
made known both at home and abroad that what he had 
created was here to stay and grow. 

It did grow. 


OW industrialism was able to ac- 
quire a new character. It grew not 
merely bigger, but better. Ger- 
many and the United States were 
not content to copy British meth- 
ods and mechanisms. They in- 
vented totally new ones. Technol- 
ogy experienced what amounted to 
another revolution, one even more 
profound and convulsive than the first. A hundred year 
earlier it had shot up from infancy to adolescence. Now it 

began to approach maturity. 



Science deserves most of the credit for that. It had played 
only a minor role in the earlier revolution, for scientists had 
been relatively rare then, and usually too proud to apply 
themselves to "practical" things. Most of the major inven- 
tions of the late Eighteenth Century, like all of the minor 
ones, had been fathered by amateurs. But it was altogether 
different now* Technology had acquired the dignity of a 
profession, and even highly-trained physicists and chemists 
were willing to devote themselves to its problems. Invention 
ceased to be a casual, rule-of-thumb, hit-or-miss affair pur- 
sued by ardent hobbyists. The laboratory supplanted the 
attic ; precise blueprints took the place of barn-made models. 

Formerly science had looked down on industry as a 
haughty princess might look down on a low-born swain. 
Now, however, the swain had come up in the world, so milady 
swallowed her pride and let him make her his wife. It was a 
marriage of convenience, but its fruit was noble. Machines 
began to appear which were not simply larger than any that 
had come before, swifter, more efficient, less capricious. Many 
were completely novel. 

The great triumph of the late Eighteenth Century had 
been the harnessing of steam-power. Now in the late Nine- 
teenth Century came an even greater triumph: the harness- 
ing of electricity. When an English chemist named Michael 
Faraday devised a primitive dynamo in 1831, a prominent 
politician is reported to have sneered, "What's it good for?" 
To which Faraday supposedly replied: "You might put a 
tax on it, sir!" And that is just what politicians were doing 
a few decades later. A German engineer named Werner Sie- 
mens developed a practical dynamo, and this coupled with 
the alternator contrived by a Jugoslav scientist, Nikola 
Tesla, eventually enabled an American inventor, Thomas A. 


Edison, to produce light and power and even justice by 
electricity. The State of New York ceased to hang her capi- 
tal offenders after 1888. Her solons decided it was more 
civilized to "electrocute" them. 

Simultaneously a second source of energy was discovered 
in petroleum. In 1876 a German named N. Otto produced 
a practical gasoline-engine, and ten years later another 
German, Gottlieb Daimler, improved the device so that it 
could be hooked to a bicycle or a wagon. Thus was born the 
"horseless carriage." A French firm named Panhard and 
Levassor clamped pneumatic tires on the contraption in 
1892, another named Renault Brothers added gears in 1897, 
and five years later an American named Henry Ford set up 
shop in a barn in Detroit. Dawned the "Flivver Age." 

Ford started out as an unlettered mechanic, and so did 
most of the other men who succeeded in saddling the explo- 
sive power of petroleum. They received their training as 
wheelwrights, gas-fitters, or bicycle repairmen. Edison, who 
did most to buckle the harness on electricity, sprang from 
much the same class. But their practical achievements de- 
pended fundamentally on theoretical discoveries, and they 
knew it. That was why, once they went into production, they 
unfailingly hired consultants who were trained scientists. 
And they paid them well. Not extravagantly, of course, but 
well enough especially when compared with what scientists 
had once been paid. The great Michael Faraday, head of 
the Royal Institution, had been content to work for $500 a 
year, coal and candles included ! 

Even Ford found himself forced to hire trained scien- 
tists. Edison, who had a far livelier intellect, recruited a 
staff of them as soon as he sold his first patent. He knew it 
would pay him. And it did* 


The recruiting of scientists was found to pay in every 
Industrial field. Geologists put new profit into mining, metal- 
lurgists into smelting, physicists into steel-construction, hy- 
draulists into cement-mixing, geneticists into agriculture. 
Above all, chemists earned their salt. They found uncanny 
ways to refine petroleum, cure rubber, preserve food, tan 
leather, harden steel, synthesize dyestuffs* and conjure pre- 
cious products out of sheer swill. 

The earlier technology had been appallingly wasteful. 
Valuable commodities had been allowed to pour down drains, 
go up in smoke, fly away in the wind, pile up in refuse heaps. 
Now there was an end to such profligacy. In one industry, 
pork-packing, the "chemical engineers" wrought so won- 
drously that their employers could boast that nothing went 
to waste except the squeal! 

All this meant more merchandise for the world, more to 
eat and wear and enjoy. The London markets began to dis- 
play fish from Newfoundland, lamb from Australia, dates 
from Egypt, bananas from Honduras. Canned and bottled 
goods became common everywhere. Prospectors on the Klon- 
dike were able to feast on bully beef, and pauper children in 
Glasgow had orange marmalade with their tea on Sun- 
days. Textiles improved in quality and appearance. Leather 
shoes began to displace wooden clogs, and cheap handker- 
chiefs came to the relief of coat-sleeves. 

Innumerable new conveniences and comforts crowded into 
everyday use : sewing machines, bicycles, fountain pens, tooth 
brushes, typewriters, rolled cigarettes, and rubber over- 
shoes. All life was made at least potentially cleaner and more 
healthful. Sanitary devices multiplied, surgical appliances 
were improved, new and better medicines came on the mar- 
ket, and false teeth were made that really fitted. And a new 


brightness came into the world. The noxious, hissing gas- 
jet which had just begun to supplant the oil lamp was al- 
ready beginning to give way to the electric globe. 

Rail-transport picked up new speed. The chuffing "iron 
horse" became a sleek steel Pegasus capable of pulling a 
train at seventy, eighty, ninety miles an hour. The first white 
man to cross from Florida to California had spent eight 
hard years on the journey. Now the same distance could be 
traversed comfortably in half as many days. 

Water-transport experienced an even profounder change* 
The paddle-wheel steamboat had proved a failure on the 
open sea, and as late as the 1870's almost all navigation had 
still been carried on in sailing vessels. But now the screw- 
propeller was introduced, new boilers were developed, weld- 
ing replaced oakum and tar, and ocean voyages became as 
regular as ferry crossings. Ships appeared that were veri- 
table floating hotels, their decks turned into tennis courts, 
their masts into derrick props. Seamen were still called 
"sailors," but they were really engine-tenders. 

Yet these changes, on land and sea alike, were mere im- 
provements. The real revolution came when the dynamo and 
the oil engine were perfected. These brought on the electric 
street-car, the automobile, and eventually the airplane. 
Thereafter man could really go places. 

Even more wonderful: man could make places come to 
him. He had already learned to do that back in the 1830's^ 
when the telegraph and the photograph first came into his 
ken. But after 1876 he had the telephone, after 1891 the 
motion picture, and after 1896 the wireless. Then his power 
over space and time became almost limitless. 

So the marriage of science and industry proved a very 
princely event. It turned what had been a mere stream of 
plenty into a roaring flood. That was good. 


But not perfect. The same thing happened now that had 
happened a century earlier: technology was revolutionized, 
but not psychology. Though the means were at hand to 
make life infinitely more bountiful and beautiful* not enough 
will emerged to take those means in hand. Man had, so to 
speak, educated himself beyond his intelligence. He had 
learned, but he had not understood. Therefore, despite all 
his newly-acquired power, he remained weak. 

One trouble was that he kept trying to fit his new ma- 
chines to old designs. Just as he had built the first railway 
cars to resemble stage-coaches, just so did he make the first 
automobiles look like buggies. Pushing is easier than pull- 
ing, and properly the motor should have been installed in 
the rear. Instead it was put in front, for that was where the 
horse had been. The most luxurious model was characteris- 
tically dubbed a "limousine" because once upon a time 
royal coaches had been drawn by horses bred in the French 
province of Limousin. Even the humblest model usually 
sported a flower-vase on the dashboard because people 
were used to seeing a whip-socket there. 

These may seem trivial details, but they are revealing. In- 
stead of erecting a brave new world, technology was em- 
ployed to shore up the slavish old one. Consider, for example, 
what electricity might have accomplished now had it only 
been given a chance. It might have dispelled the Black Life 
within a generation. No longer was there any need to concen- 
trate industry in blighted, smoke-choked valleys. Hign- 
tension wires could deliver power to factories on mountain- 
crags, or far out on open moors. The same was largely true 
of commerce. The telephone was here, so why pile offices one 
on top of the other? The automobile was coming, so why con- 
tinue to crowd the already overcrowded shopping-center sf 


The herding of humans had been physically imperative in 
the steam-engine age. But not now. 

Yet the herding actually increased. Though technologi- 
cally wasteful, and socially disastrous, herding was finan- 
cially profitable. Did it not improve real estate "values"? So 
the population of New York more than tripled between 1870 
and 1910; that of Chicago multiplied sevenfold. Birming- 
ham, Alabama, which had not even existed in 1870, contained 
over 130,000 inhabitants in 1910. Similar swarming oc- 
curred in every other industrial region. Tenement areas kept 
growing and growing. They suppurated in Osaka, in Johan- 
nesburg, in Calcutta, in Madrid. Factory slums ceased to be 
mere boils on the face of the earth; they became carbuncles. 

Something that had gone wrong from the start kept going 
constantly wronger. 


EVOLUTION is another word for 
turn, and mankind had just made 
a good one. It had again ferreted 
out new and better means to ex- 
ploit nature. But this good turn 
deserved another and did not get 
it. Properly not alone the means 
should have been renovated, but 
also the ends. Just as science had 
been employed to direct the how of mating goods, just so 

should it have been invoked to decide the when and where and 



for whom. More than horse-sense was needed to run an econ- 
omy driven by horse-power. Unhappily, however, that need 
was not realized, and the second Industrial Revolution saw 
the fallacy of the first repeated and compounded. Once more 
a supply of new wine was spilled or spoiled because it was 
poured into cracked old bottles. 

The economic system remained what it had been before. 
Commerce and industry continued to be carried on primarily 
by private individuals seeking immediate private gain. All 
the change that occurred was confined to method, not mo- 
tive. Instead of growing essentially better, enterprises grew 
merely bigger. 

This was especially true of the manufacturing enterprises. 
See, for example, what happened in the United States. In 
1900 that country actually had fewer cotton mills than in 
1850 ; but the average amount of capital invested in each had 
swelled from $68,100 to $442,882. There were only two hun- 
dred additional iron and steel mills ; but the average annual 
output of each had jumped from $43,650 to $1,203,545. The 
number of factories making farm implements had been cut 
almost in half; but the survivors were producing forty-eight 
times as much merchandise. 

The same thing happened in Great Britain, Germany, and 
all the other industrial nations. In each the manufacturing 
units waxed enormously in size and productivity. And this 
of course was only natural. Just as one revolution in tech- 
nology had forced the domestic workshops to give way to 
small factories, just so did the next force the small factories 
to give way to giant plants. To be sure, this second change 
served to correct certain of the evils wrought by the first, 
for it took part of the crude muddling and caprice out of in- 
dustry. Mammoth establishments could afford to hire sci- 
entists to develop new techniques. At the same time, they 


could not afford to foster all of the old abuses. It actually 
paid them to install safety devices in their workrooms, and 
to improve the lighting and sanitation. At times it even paid 
them to raise the wages or reduce the hours. A small manu- 
facturer could get stubborn when threatened with a strike. 
He was free to close his shop and go off and sulk until his 
workers gave in, or his funds gave out. But the president of 
a great corporation had to reckon with his shareholders 
and public opinion. 

So far, so good. But so far was not far enough. This 
growth of giant plants tended to buckle the economy's bal- 
ance-wheel. Business was no longer a free-for-all scramble, 
Any upstart could still start up ; but if he wanted to forge 
ahead he had to form or join a gang. That boded no good for 
the economy. Formerly a man had needed merely a little 
money and a lot of enterprise to make good in the business 
world ; but now the prerequisites seemed to be a lot of money 
and even more caution. A man who was at best a capable 
manufacturer could become at most a captain of industry. 
He had to be a shrewd financier to become a general* That 
boded no good at all. It put the fate of the economy into the 
hands of men who were more eager to conspire than compete. 

For example, there was John D. Rockefeller. He was an 
extraordinary character who started out in a quite ordinary 
way. Born of poor parents on a mortgaged farm, he set him- 
self to learn bookkeeping, and then went out into the world 
to make his fortune. With characteristic shrewdness he chose 
a field in which men of his pious kind he was exceedingly 
pious were as rare as they were needed. It was the petro- 
leum industry, one of the newest in the world, and also about 
the rawest. As late as the 1840's, petroleum had been used 
solely as a quack medicine. Wandering mountebanks among 
them John D.'s own father had hawked it as Seneca Oil, 


a the one and only gemuwine Indian remedy for snake-bites , 
cholera morbus, liver troubles, bronchitis, and fits." Late in 
the 1850 ? s, however, people discovered that it could also be 
used for lighting and lubrication, and then there was a rush 
to drill wells and build refineries. Cleveland, the railroad- 
junction nearest the main oil-fields, became a boom town* 
Fortunes were made there in a day, and lost in a night. It 
was like San Francisco during the gold rush, only worse, for 
no one knew just how much oil was "worth." In 1859 a barrel 
of it fetched twenty dollars, and in 1861 fifty- two cents ! 

That was what appealed to young Mr. Rockefeller. He 
abhorred gambling, but loved a sure thing ; and here he saw 
one going to waste. Oil, he believed, could be made as stable 
a commodity as coal or iron, and even more lucrative. All 
that was needed was a little organization. So he got busy. 
Finding himself two partners, he started a small oil refinery 
in 1862 with a capital of four thousand dollars. Eight years 
later he was the president of a million-dollar corporation 
called the Standard Oil Company. 

That, however, was only the beginning. As yet he had re- 
sorted to none save quite conventional business methods, the 
ones he might have learned from his own father. The time 
came, however, when young John D. felt impelled to im- 
prove on what he had been taught. Instead of continuing to 
beat his competitors according to the rules, he set out to beat 
the rules. 

His method was beautifully simple. First he quietly per- 
suaded several of the largest refiners around Cleveland to 
form a syndicate, and then he gently bludgeoned the rail- 
roads into giving this syndicate special freight rates. That 
accomplished, he turned to the smaller refiners in his locality 
and blandly invited them to sell out or go broke. They sold 


But then there was a howl. Rockefeller had wriggled him- 
self into a position where he had the actual producers of 
petroleum by the throat, and the ultimate consumers by the 
tail. Both those groups began to howl, and with such violence 
that the railroads blanched and welched. So Rockefeller 
tried another dodge. Hiring the lawyer who had led the cru- 
sade against him, he evolved a new type of combine which 
had no legal existence, and could do anything it wanted with- 
out ever baring its face. He called it a "trust/ 5 and began to 
recruit partners with the most elaborate stealth. He warned* 
them not to disclose the scheme even to their wives, and 
begged them not to build large houses, or start driving fast 
horses, or reveal in any other way that big money had sud- 
denly begun to come their way. He himself avoided extrava- 
gance as though it were rum or tobacco. Despite that he soon 
became one of the richest men in the land eventually the 
very richest he would not buy either a yacht, or a race 
horse, or a box at the opera, or a house on Fifth Avenue, or 
even a private art gallery. His only indulgence was philan- 
thropy, and even that he kept In those days largely secret. 

This stealth, however, did not imply a sense of guilt on 
his part. On the contrary, Mr. Rockefeller felt he was per- 
forming a righteous mission. Was he not exorcising the devil 
of competition? If he practiced guile, evasion, even deception 
at times, it was because he recalled the Gospel injunction to 
missionaries: "Be ye wise as serpents . . . lest they deliver 
you up to the councils and scourge you in the synagogues.'* 
Of course, he also remembered that the Bible said something 
about being "harmless as doves" ; but he believed he was ful- 
filling that injunction, too* Did he not teach Sunday School 

The public, however, put a different evaluation on his con- 
duct, especially after other businessmen began to copy his 


monopolistic scheme. By 1887 a Senate Committee was 
moved to thunder that the formation of trusts had spread 
"like a disease through the entire commercial system of the 
country." All sorts of industries had begun to be monop- 
olized: whiskey, sugar, glass, copper, farm tools, coffins, 
school slates, even castor-oil. A handful of timber barons had 
bought up so many of the nation's forests that they could 
have provided the logs for a bridge five miles wide clear 
across the Atlantic. Rockefeller himself had succeeded in get- 
ting control of nine-tenths of all the oil refineries in North 

So a cry arose to "bust the trusts." It came first from the 
myriads of little businessmen who had already been, or were 
about to be, bust by the trusts. And the general public was 
not far behind. In 1888, an election year, both the Repub- 
lican and the Democratic parties proclaimed their bottom- 
less horror of all "combinations of capital." In 1889 half a 
dozen states passed laws against such combinations. In 1890 
Congress itself joined the stampede, voting almost unani- 
mously in favor of a sweeping "Anti-Trust Act." And in 
1892, after fourteen months of stertorous litigation, the 
Standard Oil Company, archetype of all the trusts, was or- 
dered dissolved. 

Was Rockefeller daunted? Not in the least. Nor were any 
of the other panters after monopoly. Denied the right to 
combine in "trusts," they combined in "pools," "trade-asso- 
ciations," " joint-agreements," "communities of interest," 
and last and best of all "holding-companies." 

This ultimate device was initiated in New Jersey, a small 
state where big businessmen were able to do almost as they 
pleased with the crumb-hungry legislature. By dint of various 
kinds of suasion they prevailed on it to enact a law permit- 
ting any corporation chartered in that state to buy an inter- 


cst in any other corporation chartered anywhere in the 
country. That enabled monopoly to function behind a wall 
that was, as the saying went, "horse-high, hog-tight, and 
bull-strong." A similar law was soon enacted in Delaware, 
which was an even smaller state with an even crumb-hungrier 
legislature. By 1901 nearly two hundred giant holding- 
companies were pyramiding one enterprise on top of another. 
Between them they were already in control of capital to the 
extent of over four billion dollars nearly twice the amount 
of money in general circulation throughout the land. 
Monopoly had won out in the United States. 

It won out in Germany too, and there even more sweep- 
ingly. Bismarck was in large part responsible for that. Being 
feudal to the marrow, he loved monopoly. Did it not foster 
authority and order? By the same token, Bismarck loathed 
competition, for that spelled freedom and chaos. Had he had 
the power, he would probably have consolidated all business 
in the hands of the state, and run it like the army or the 
school system. With some types of enterprise for example, 
the railways and utilities he actually succeeded in doing 
that. He made them government property. 

Most enterprises, however, did not lend themselves to such 
tactics, so Bismarck compromised. Unable to take them over, 
he laid plans to keep them under, and therefore deliberately 
encouraged the businessmen to organize among themselves. 
He knew that the more they organized, the easier would they 
be to keep in line. 

Ajid most German businessmen fell in with his policy. They 
had never been able to work up a really deep devotion to in- 
dividualism. They had not been given the chance. Only yes- 
terday they had been the vassals of princelings, and the vas- 
sal spirit was still strong in them. They actually preferred 


to work in teams. They abhorred scrambling; they liked to 

But even in Britain, where individualism was almost a na- 
tional cult, even there more and more businessmen began to 
combine. The same was soon true in France and Belgium and 
every other land that developed extensive industries. In 
Japan fully 50% of all business fell into the hands of eight 
families. Throughout the world there was a swift growth of 
"trusts," "cartels, 5 * "syndicates," and similar monopolistic 
devices. Everywhere there was a steady drift toward setting 
production quotas, parceling out markets, and fixing prices. 
It seemed to make little difference whether the phenomenon 
was damned, blessed, or ignored; it came as irresistibly as 
caution to an aging hound. 

There were two reasons for this. In the first place, the 
more that industrialism expanded, the more it had to be re- 
duced to order and order was impossible without some con- 
solidation and centralized control. In the second place, the 
more that capitalism matured, the more it had to develop 
prudence, for without prudence it seemed bound to claw itself 
to shreds. It had been all very well for Adam Smith to advo- 
cate unbridled competition. In his day the field of business 
had been almost a wilderness, and there had been plenty of 
room for all who cared to rush in and grab. But the situation 
had changed since then. Competition had begun to prove it- 
self inherently self-defeating, since the longer it was carried 
on, the fewer were the competitors who could survive. Smith 
had believed that the game would be umpired by an Unseen 
Hand. Instead it had begun to fall prey to an ungloved fist. 

Here then was one more thing that went wrong. Monopoly 
did spell less chaos in industry, and thus definitely increased 
the potential capacity to produce. At the same time, how- 
ever, it tended to rig prices, and thus it choked the relative 


capacity to consume. That meant trouble for the economy, 
even worse trouble than it had ever known before, Thus far 
it had been run by little businessmen, so the incidental ills 
had been likewise little. But now that big businessmen had 
begun to take over, correspondingly big ills had to follow. 
For those big businessmen, though superior in shrewdness, 
were equally lacking in vision* They too could look no far- 
ther than their noses. It never even occurred to them to ask 
what an economic system was really for* They, like the rest, 
took it for granted that the prime motive was merely the be- 
getting of profit. Consequently, though they broke the old 
rules of business, they continued to play the same game. 
They too sought only to keep cutting costs and padding 

But costs included the wages paid to labor, and if these 
were held down, how was the bulk of the population to pay 
high prices ? The whole arrangement was awry. Goods could 
be produced, but to whom were they to be sold? 


ISTRIBUTION was the snag. The 
making of goods was easy now, 
but selling them still remained a 
problem. It would have been a 
problem even had the economic 
system not been so awry, for there 
was a technical hump to hurdle. 
Commerce had failed to become as 
efficient as industry, largely be- 
cause it had been slower to succumb to the big businessmen. 
Considerable capital was required to start a modern 


manufacturing plant, but almost anyone could open a store 
and almost anyone did. As a result, most trading con- 
tinued to be carried on in ways as crude as they were hoary. 
Usually it was conducted in dark and cluttered little shops 
run by ferret-eyed vendors to whom each transaction was a 
battle of wits. Prices were rarely marked. The shopkeeper 
asked all he dared, the customer offered what he liked, and 
then they chaffered to and fro till they struck a bargain or 
parted scowling. Save perhaps for the absence of oaths, and 
brandished fists, the whole procedure was precisely like that 
which had obtained in the bazaars of ancient Babylon. The 
first need, therefore, was improvement in the technique of 

This did come, of course ; but all too slowly. One sign of 
advance was the emergence of a new kind of retail establish- 
ment called a "department store." Its inventor is said to 
have been a Parisian merchant who opened an emporium in 
1852 which lie named Le Bon Marche "the good bargain." 
His success was modest at first, but he persevered, and in 
time other merchants copied his idea. Department stores be- 
gan to appear in most of the larger cities throughout Eu- 
rope, and eventually even in many small ones in the United 

Another mark of progress was the rise of what came to be 
called the "chain store." This was an older type of institu- 
tion, for there are records of its existence in ancient China 
and Rome. Not until late in the Nineteenth Century, how- 
ever, did it begin to become somewhat common. Shortly be- 
fore the Civil War it occurred to two Yankee merchants that 
if they bought tea right at the dock by the shipload and then 
sold it widespread by the pound, they could cut prices and 
still make a fine profit. So they started a concern which they 
bravely named "The Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Com- 


pany," and proceeded to open small stores In one town after 
another. Before long they too had imitators ; Indeed, so many 
of them, that eventually half the groceries consumed in the 
country were being bought from chain stores. 

Still another advance was the invention of what came to be 
known as the "dime store." In 1879 a bright young man 
named F. W. Woolworth rented a small shop in Lebanon, 
Pennsylvania, stocked it with notions and gimcracks, and put 
a sign in the window reading, "No Article Over 5$." That 
was a completely new wrinkle, and it caught on instantly. 
Before this Mr. Woolworth died he was opening similar 
shops even in Europe. Moreover, other merchants were emu- 
lating him in Australia, Africa, and Asia. 

Then there was the "mail-order" house. The first of these 
to offer a general line of merchandise was founded in Chicago 
in 1872 by a man named Montgomery Ward. Later other 
such concerns arose in America, most notably Sears, Roebuck 
and Company and the T. Eaton Company of Canada. 
Eventually their like arose in most lands where there was 
free rural delivery. 

All these developments were obviously steps in the right 
direction. True, they did crush the toes of the little shop- 
keepers ; but see how they advanced the stride of the general 
public. They enabled the middleman to buy in large quan- 
tities, and thus tended to narrow the margin between what 
the producer charged and the consumer had to pay. They 
enforced plain marking of prices, and thus made the act of 
purchase a simple rite instead of a minor brawL They en- 
couraged standardization of brands, and thus helped take 
some of the gamble out of shopping. Above all, they fostered 
expansion, co-ordination, and efficient management, and thus 
began to shorten the lag between mass-production and mass- 


The total effect, however , was far from adequate. These new 
institutions never conquered more than a corner of the entire 
retail field, and even within that corner the buying public 
was still at a disadvantage. Prices might be marked, and 
goods labelled, but the intrinsic quality of an article con- 
tinued to be kept a secret. So far as that item was con- 
cerned, the rule was still Caveat emptor, "Let the buyer 
beware I" 

This, to be sure, was not universally true, for there had 
been some growth of "co-operative stores" throughout this 
period. Robert Owen had plowed the ground for them back 
in the 1820's, but the seed had not taken firm root until after 
1844. That year a group of laborers living in a Lancashire 
milltown named Rochdale started a "buying club" based on 
a new financial principle. They agreed to apportion the prof- 
its according to the amount of goods each member bought, 
and to disburse this profit not in cash but in capital shares 
earning 5% interest. Thus they assured their enterprise of 
a growing supply of capital, and at the same time gave 
themselves an unflagging stimulus to seek its success. The 
more they bought of its wares and they were sound wares, 
fairly priced the more they appeared to increase their per- 
sonal savings. 

The scheme proved so successful that it soon began to be 
copied in the neighboring towns, and then throughout the 
length and breadth of Europe. Even in the United States, 
where individualism was most stoutly intrenched, a society 
called the "Sovereigns of Industry" started to propagate co- 
operative stores. By the middle of the 1870*s there was a 
chain of them extending from Maine to Maryland. 

But again the total effect was slight. These cooperatives 
were able to form mere microscopic clearings in the jungle 
of commerce, for they labored under crippling handicaps. 


The whole might of capitalism was pitted against them, and 
their own strength was chronically sapped bj lack of initi- 
ative and excess of mismanagement. Therefore, despite their 
patent virtues, they failed to win wide patronage. Even 
where the cooperatives were least unsuccessful, in Great 
Britain and Ireland, they were able to boast fewer than 
2,000,000 members by 1901 barely 4% of the entire popu- 

So the principle of Caveat emptor reigned unchecked, and 
this naturally encouraged all sorts of abuses. Some mer- 
chants did not hesitate to resort to outright villainy in their 
eagerness to earn an extra penny. They adulterated flour 
with plaster, whiskey with raw spirit, pepper with sawdust, 
brown sugar with sand. They applied chemicals to tainted 
meat to make it look fresh and colorful, or added embalming 
fluid to milk to deter it from going sour. And though such 
practices may have been exceptional, others which were gen- 
eral were no less harmful in their ultimate effect. They put 
such suspicion into the hearts of the buying public that 
"sales resistance" became almost endemic. 

This was no new affliction, but in the past it had not been 
important. Goods had been so difficult to produce that it 
had been almost an advantage if they were slow to sell. Now, 
however, "sales resistance" threatened to throttle the entire 

Ways simply had to be found to break that bottleneck 
and found they were, in the course of time. They were hardly 
the most intelligent ways, nor the most adequate ; but they 
were at least adroit, and they did help a little. One stratagem 
was to make goods look better than they really were. Shoddy 
was fabricated to resemble pure wool, cotton was mercerized 
to shine like silk, tin was plated to look like sterling silver. 
Anything that was costly was reproduced in cunning coun- 


terfeit: jewelry, cut glass, leather, fur, and chinaware. 
Machinery which might have produced sound wares was de- 
liberately employed to turn out trash. For trash had a two- 
fold virtue: it was cheap and did not last, and could there- 
fore be sold easily and often. 

But there were some people who could afford to buy costly 
wares, and more who were slow to replace even cheap ones. 
This created a need for a further stratagem, one that would 
compel people to buy new merchandise before they could 
wear out the old. So the fashion-craze was popularized. For- 
merly fashions had changed only at long intervals, and they 
had interested solely the rich. Now such changes were delib- 
erately stimulated each year, and even the poor were en- 
couraged to pursue them. A new profession arose, that of the 
"fashion expert," and female apparel was re-designed re- 
lentlessly. There was no effort to make the new styles more 
sensible or more beautiful. The one ideal inspiring the entire 
fuss and flurry was simply change. The feather was put here 
instead of there, the bustle was raised, or lowered, or taken 
off, or put back again that was all. The whole thing was 
worse than silly; it was cruel, for it caused immeasurable 
pain. Half the British navy could have been floated in the 
tears of poor womenfolk struggling to make one year's ward- 
robe do for the next. In addition it encouraged unconscion- 
able waste. Essentially the whole artifice was nothing but a 

That, however, was just what endeared it to the mer- 
chants. A cancer consumed, and consumption was their chief 
problem. They wanted to keep selling, and here was a means 
of inducing the public to buy. Before long they began to 
graft that cancer into other lines of merchandise : ornaments* 
draperies, furniture, automobiles. The time came when even 
the fashion in pet dogs was changed every year or two. 


It was all done by means of propaganda. Every ruling 
class in history had had to resort to propaganda, and the 
stalwarts who were now struggling to become such a class 
resorted to it hard. They advertised. Back in the Eighteenth 
Century the current oracle. Dr. Johnson, had boasted that 
^the trade of advertising is now so near to perfection that it 
is not easy to propose any improvement." He spoke too soon. 
More than a hundred years later improvements began to 
come so fast that what had once been a mere trade suddenly 
blossomed into a mighty profession. All the Muses were se- 
duced into its employ, and most of the Furies too. The great- 
est artists were hired to paint posters proclaiming the peculiar 
virtues of some particular brand of soap, soup, or sausages. 
Poets were paid to compose sonnets to that same end, and 
humorists were engaged to grind out limericks and slogans. 
Advertising multiplied and fructified till it threatened to 
smother the whole earth. 

Wherever one turned one could not escape the adjurations 
to buy, buy, BUY! Glaring billboards were erected on the 
housetops in the cities, and on the hillsides along the roads 
and railways. Leaflets were scattered in the streets, free 
samples were stuffed in the mails, and arty calendars were 
hung in every kitchen and outhouse. The daily press began 
to carry almost more advertising than news, and even learned 
journals became freighted with commercial appeals. 

In a sense it was a siege. Giant mortars of selling propa- 
ganda were set to pounding at the buying public day and 
night, Sundays included. And this seemed altogether neces- 
sary. In the language of an American writer of the time, the 
one sure prescription for business success had become: 

"Early to bed, early to rise, 
Work like hell, and advertise/* 


The whole system may have been foolish, and was certainly 
wasteful, but the businessmen were convinced that no better 
one could be devised. They badgered and wheedled and baited 
and begged because they believed that thus alone could the 
public be made to buy more goods. And it did buy more. The 
rate of consumption within the industrialized countries in- 
creased enormously as the years elapsed. But this, it must be 
recorded, was due only incidentally to high-pressure sales- 
manship. What helped far more was the increase in the pub- 
lic's buying-power. Wages had been steadily rising during 
all this period. No matter how the masters might struggle to 
hold them down, the workers always found ways to force 
them up. They joined unions and struck; or, better still, 
they merely threatened to strike and then agreed to negoti- 
ate. Where such methods were ineff ective, the workers started 
riots and hurled bombs'. The result was that in England, for 
example, the average wage nearly doubled between 1850 and 
1900 ; in the United States it more than tripled. 

That was good. The more the workers earned, the more 
they were able to spend. But there was a cloud behind that 
silver lining: by the time the workers had, say, twice as much 
to spend, the merchants had at least three times as much to 
sell. No matter how labor might advance, machinery ad- 
vanced faster. 

So in the end the situation was little better than it had 
been in the beginning. Despite all that the merchants thought 
up, and even all that the manufacturers gave up, consump- 
tion continued to lag behind production. 

One more thing that had gone wrong from the start kept 
going wronger. 


OWHERE in the industrialized 
world was home consumption able 
to drain home production. Though 
the machines were allowed to stand 
idle all night, and periodically all 
day too, they still turned out far 
more than the domestic markets 
could absorb. The only solution, 
therefore, was to sell abroad. As 
the years elapsed the great producing countries found them- 
selves forced to do more and more selling abroad. 



Great Britain especially felt that need. The sudden spurt 
in the Industrial race toward the close of the I860 ? s had 
goaded the British to install more machinery than ever. True, 
it was not the best machinery. Radical innovation was rather 
frowned on now by the typical British industrialist. He 
feared it would entail too much renovation. A novel device 
might require scrapping an old factory, and that would 
mean writing off considerable capital. He did not care to do 
that. Fpr that matter, he did not see the need. Hadn't the 
old devices served him well enough in the past? 

It was the German and American industrialists who showed 
the sharper enterprise now, for they were less encumbered by 
obsolete notions and obsolescent plants. As a result they 
began to gain on the British. Not alarmingly, of course. 
John Bull's juggernaut may have been less up-to-date, but 
it still retained the advantage of bulk. In addition it was 
more compact and better greased. It seemed able to keep 
ahead on sheer momentum. 

It did keep ahead, but only by hitting up a madcap pace. 
Britain's annual output expanded stupendously between 
1870 and 1900. Here are some figures of the increase : 

Cotton goods 40% 

Woolens 100% 

Pig Iron 150% 

And this increase meant so much more surplus to dispose of 
each year. 

Now once upon a happy time a surplus of manufactured 
wares had presented no problem at all to the British. The 
whole world had been eager to take it off their hands. But 
conditions had changed since then. Other nations had got 
hold of machinery, and these were manufacturing for them- 
selves. Not as cheaply perhaps, for their equipment was less 


extensive as yet. But they were making up for that handicap 
by walling in their home markets with "protective" tariffs. 
The United States had not been the only country to resort 
to that maneuver. Germany had adopted it too, and so had 
France, Italy, Austria, even Russia. 

"Protection" was threatening to make the whole world a 
maze of walls, and to John Bull that seemed outrageous. He 
for his part believed in "Free Trade" all markets open to 
all comers, everything fair and square, and may the best 
man win. John Bull had been pursuing that policy in his own 
realm ever since the 1840*s ? and he felt it ought to be pur- 
sued everywhere else. To be sure, he himself stood to gain 
most if that were done. His peerless industrial resources 
would then enable him to continue outselling and undersell- 
ing aH rivals. But this, he argued, was neither here nor 
there. It was the principle of the thing that counted. Ac- 
cording to the teachings of "economic liberalism," the most 
profitable policy in the long run was to let competition 
go the limit. "Protection" was therefore inexcusable. Its 
whole aim was to put competition on a leash. 

But John Bull argued in vain. His rivals refused to think 
about the long run; they were too intent on winning the 
short one. The latter agreed that "Economic Liberalism" 
was a very noble ideal, and they hoped Britain would never 
abandon it. For themselves, however, they preferred "Eco- 
nomic Nationalism." That gave them a better chance in the 
battle for business, since it enabled them to fight in packs 
against the British who fought as individuals. 

John Bull did not like that. Where was he going to sell 
his goods if other nations continued to gang up against him? 
At home? Impossible. Most of his subjects were too poor, 
and most of his products were too specialized. Britain was 
producing more textiles than ever, yet even less food ; it was 


turning out whole mountains of ironmongery, but only hand- 
fuls of fine wares. British industry could not conceivably 
serve the British market alone; it was geared to serve the 
whole wide world. So John Bull found himself with a growing 
surplus on his hands and a growing ache in his head. 

The problem was not confined to goods ; there was also a 
growing surplus of capital to dispose of. John Bull had been 
enriching himself hand over fist ever since he took to the 
Machine. By 1870 his total capital amounted to nearly 
thirty billion dollars fully twelve times what it had been in 
1770. This was called Britain's "national wealth," but the 
term was inaccurate. Most of the treasure belonged to the 
very rich, and these were relatively very few. They could not 
possibly spend all they had; nor would they try. They be- 
lieved with something akin to religious fervor that their first 
duty was not to spend but to invest. A thousand pounds to 
them was not a thousand pounds. It was sixty pounds per 
annum or more, if they could get a higher rate of interest. 

This, as we have seen, was a good thing in one way. Had 
the rich considered their increment a flower to be plucked, 
instead of a seed to be replanted, the age-old curse of scar- 
city might have endured forever and aye. Only because the 
profits of British industry were plowed right back into it 
was British industry able so swiftly to expand. 

But the time came when that process seemed to reach a 
saturation point. Britain might be Great in name, but it was 
small in size. Once the basic mines and mills had been estab- 
lished, and all the essential railways had been nailed down, 
further industrial expansion necessarily yielded diminish- 
ing returns. ^Consequently the British capitalists found 
themselves forced more and more to look abroad for places 
to invest their wealth. Not that there was no room for it at 
home. The industrial plant may have been large enough, but 


it was not nearly good enough. Much of Britain's mechan- 
ical equipment had already become obsolete by 1870, and 
almost all of it could have stood improvement. As for what 
might be called the social plant, that was in unspeakable 

No effort had yet been made to raze the slums which had 
festered around the first factory sites. On the contrary, 
these had been allowed, even encouraged, to spread. Crowd- 
ing, squalor, stink, and grime were actually commoner in 
1870 than they had been even in 1830. There were industrial 
towns in England, containing tens of thousands of inhabit- 
ants, which still lacked a single public park or public bath- 
house. Schooling had been made universal, but almost all the 
school-houses were as cramped as they were foul.. What few 
free hospitals existed were so dreadful that even the deathly 
sick fought against being taken to them. 

And conditions in the British countryside, though less 
sordid, were almost as squalid. There were, of course, many 
beautiful estates and unspoiled woodlands, but these were 
usually walled in and marked, "No Trespassing !" The com- 
mon farmfolk had to subsist in the most abject surround- 
ings, for they had been reduced to virtual pauperdom. Their 
houses might be picturesque to look at, but they were 
noisome to live in. What with their straw roofs and mud 
walls and earthen floors and steaming dunghills, they were 
not so much homes as lairs. In many respects life in the 
British countryside was as primitive as it had been in the 
Middle Ages. 

To talk of an excess of capital in Britain was preposter- 
ous. Actually there was not even nearly enough for all that 
cried to be done in the land. The virus of the Black Life was 
still raging in the industrial regions, and the ghost of the 
Black Death continued to haunt the rural parts. To have 


stamped out both would have called for public works cost- 
ing" billions. 

But those who owned the billions were not interested in 
public works. Public works did not yield dividends. Those 
owners were cool even toward private works unless they 
yielded high dividends. So they insisted on shipping more 
and more of their capital abroad. 

This, however, like shipping more and more goods, was 
ceasing to be quite easy. Earlier in the century the British 
had been able to invest to their heart's content on the Con- 
tinent and in the United States ; but now the fairest oppor- 
tunities in those regions were being snapped up by native 
capitalists. Worse still: the latter were beginning to com- 
pete with the British in every other part of the world. Ger- 
mans were developing industries in Russia, Belgians were 
building railroads in China, Frenchmen were opening up 
mines in Mexico, Italians were starting plantations on the 
North African coast. 

No wonder John Bull began to fear he was in for trouble. 
He had equipped himself to serve the world, and now he was 
being denied the run of it. That spelled serious trouble. It 
threatened to curtail his power not merely to sell and lend, 
but also to buy and he had to do lots of buying. 

He needed raw materials for his factories. The two basic 
ones, coal and iron, were abundant right at home ; but there 
were others quite as essential, especially in the newer indus- 
trial processes, for which he had to forage overseas. He had 
always had to go abroad for raw cotton. Now he had to do 
likewise to get petroleum, rubber, manganese, brimstone, 
copper, lac, and scores of other such commodities. 

And even more vital than raw materials for his factories 
was his need of food for the factory workers. John Bull still 


liked to picture himself a country squire, but it was com- 
pletely a pose. Agriculture had become at most a sideline 
with him ; yet he had more need now of agricultural products 
than ever before. By 1870 England and Wales alone con- 
tained more than twenty-two million mouths that had to be 
fed each day. By 1900 they numbered more than thirty-two 

So John Bull had every reason to start worrying. He was 
at the mercy of the world and the world's mercy, he had 
learned, was nothing to rely on. He got ample proof of that 
when the Civil War broke out in the United States. The 
Southern ports were blockaded by the North, and that cut 
off the supply of raw cotton to Lancashire. The result? 
Lancashire, which lay full three thousand miles beyond the 
range of the American guns, became as sore stricken as 
though It were right inside the war-zone. The mills had to 
close down, the millowners had to go bankrupt, and the mill- 
workers had to roam the streets. Britain's most important 
industry was all but paralyzed. 

John Bull was never the same after that. He began to see 
that if he intended to survive economically, he would have to 
expand geographically. His empire of machines demanded 
an empire of land. 

He set out to get one. 


HE BRITISH developed a raven- 
ous appetite for land. It was not 
the first time. Much the same thing 
had happened in the early Six- 
teenth Century, right after an 
Italian adventurer in the hire of 
Spain discovered a new world be- 
yond the Atlantic. That discovery 
had been largely accidental. In 
the apt language of one historian, Christopher Columbus 

set forth without knowing where he was going, got there 



without knowing- where he was, and returned without know- 
ing where he had been. But this ignorance was soon dis- 
pelled, for half a dozen other European nations rushed to 
hire adventurers of their own to comb the seas. 

Their incentive was not so much greed as need. During 
more than a thousand years hordes of dark-white tribesmen 
had been pressing in on them from the East. Century after 
century those tribesmen Huns, Arabs, Tartars, and Turks 
had come storming in across Russia and Anatolia. And 
now the nations at the western end of the European conti- 
nent found themselves being pushed right into the sea. These 
nations had waxed in population, and needed more living- 
space than before. Instead they were being left with less 
and less. So they had to move out. 

It was sheer need, therefore, that led to the great explora- 
tions of the Sixteenth Century. Those who took part in them 
may have thought themselves adventurers, but in reality 
they were more akin to refugees. Luckily, they found what 
they were after, and much more of it than any of them had 
dreamed. Land, they discovered, was everywhere. No matter 
in what direction they sailed, invariably they found land 
if they sailed far enough. Whereupon what had started as a 
rout ended as a prowl. The Spaniards prowled, the Portu- 
guese prowled, the French, the Dutch, and the Scandinavians 
prowled. And the English, they prowled too. 

But after a while they all began to tire of prowling. Even 
the English tired of it though not until they had bagged 
next to the largest collection of prizes. Thereafter they 
continued to pick up colonies only absent-mindedly, in a sort 
of kleptomania. And finally even that ceased. Halfway 
through the Eighteenth Century the English seemed actu- 
ally to sicken of colonies. 

Note what happened when thirteen of Britain's choicest 


possessions dared to declare their independence in 1776. 
'King George was forced to hire German mercenaries to go 
out and fight the rebels. His own subjects, it seems, had 
neither the time nor the will to bother about any revolution 
in America. No wonder. They had a more exciting one on 
their hands right at home. 

The British nation had got itself embroiled in the Indus- 
trial Revolution, and this, as we have seen, raised a new 
class to power. Money-minded men, capitalists, got control 
of Parliament, and these had little use for the Empire. The 
pig-iron had entered their hearts, hardening tfiem so that 
they could not respond to any appeal based on sentiment 
alone. Even when their country was locked in a death- 
grapple with France under Napoleon, they had insisted that 
French holders of British bonds should be paid interest at 
regular intervals. Right in the midst of their Crimean War 
with Russia they gladly floated a loan for Russia through 
the London banks. Such gestures were typical of those 
money-minded men. In their eyes business came before patri- 
otism or any other pleasure. ^- 

It was natural, therefore, that they should bej&ool to- 
ward the Empire. They felt it was a source oMiraste and 
silly f ol-de-rol. It necessitated maintaining a*&rge army and 
navy, and thus tied up capital which cowld be put to use in 
industry. Besides, the Empire was a public institution run 
by public officials for public pride and these capitalists 
believed solely in private enterprises run by private indi- 
viduals for private profit. They recoiled from the very word 
"public," for it spelled government to them, and govern- 
ment spelled officiousness, extravagance, taxation. They 
were confirmed Liberals. "The less government the better !"" 
they believed. 

io they proceeded quite deliberately to neglect the Em- 


pire. Some even urged that it be scrapped forthwith, but 
these were branded Radicals and voted down. The majority 
of the Liberals felt that Britain ought to retain a certain 
number of colonies if only as dumping-grounds for convicts, 
missionaries, black sheep, retired army colonels, and other 
people who were in the way at home. Therefore instead of 
scuttling the Empire, they left it to rot away at anchor. 

This remained the official policy for nearly two genera- 
tions from 1815 until about 1870. Britain might have 
seized all of South America during that period ; but instead 
she urged the United States to proclaim the "Monroe Doc- 
trine." Twice the chieftain of the Fiji Islands offered to 
deed her full sovereignty over his realm he was trying to 
dodge a fine of $45,000 levied on him by the United States 
but each time Britain resolutely refused. The only terri- 
tories she seized in all those fifty-five years were three coal- 
ing stations needed to protect her shipping, and a bit of 
South African coastland where her colonists were being 
troubled by the Boers. At the same time, she turned around 
and granted complete autonomy to four of her largest de- 
pendencies: Canada, Newfoundland, Australia, and New 

But finally there was a revulsion. It was fomented by 
the Tories, who had never reconciled themselves to the new 
policy. They were opposed to it not alone because it was 
new, but also because it was bad for them. They had heavy 
stakes in the Empire, spiritual as well as material ones. In 
the first place, it propagated all that was most dear to their 
souls: warfare, glory, tradition, authority. In the second 
place, it furnished many of them with that which they most 
needed: government jobs. Men of good family but poor 
means and that type had grown all too common in Tory 
circles could hardly be expected to seek employment in 


"trade." They might marry Into "trade/ 5 but to stoop 
lower than that would have been too demeaning. If such 
personages were reduced to the necessity of actually work- 
ing for a living, obviously their only fit employer was Her 
Majesty the Queen. 

So the Tories never ceased to wail against the neglect of 
the Empire; and in the end their wailing toot effect. In 
large part that was because they learnt to wail in the right 
quarters. For one thing, they carried their agitation into 
the so-called "public schools," which were actually private 
academies attended exclusively by the male children of the 
rich. They appealed there to the idealism of the youths, 
ardently warning them that as true sons of Britain they 
must grow up to think of more than mere money-making. 
Nature had appointed them to fulfill a high destiny, the 
highest ever assigned to any race. It was to tame the savage 
peoples of the earth, curb the foolish ones, spread light and 
civilization in short, make "cricket" universal. Years later 
one of those youths, having grown up to become a poet, put 
the whole message into four words. He called it "The White 
Man*s Burden." 

That, however, was a distinctly secular notion, and could 
appeal only to more or less paganized minds. (Was there 
anything in the Bible distinguishing white men from black?) 
England still contained innumerable very pious folk, so for 
their benefit the same message was offered in another ver- 
sion. They were assured that not merely Nature, but Christ 
Himself expected every Englishman to do his duty; and 
this duty was to spread not just civilization, but religion* 
The White Man's Burden was really the Cross. Thus the 
imperialists were able to recruit a following in the churches 
as well as the schools. They readily granted that a mis- 
sionary needed only the grace of God to do Ms holy work. 


However, they argued, if in addition he had the support of 
the Queen *s army, could he not do his work much faster? 

But where the Tories won their readiest response was in 
the common public-houses. There they were able to reach 
the masses, and these proved peculiarly eager to shout hur- 
rah for the Empire. The reasons were numerous, but they 
all came down to one : imperialism offered those wage-slaves 
a way of escape. To the more courageous among them it 
held out the promise of physical escape. They saw themselves 
riding pickaback on good old John Bull to lands where 
there was enough food to eat, sweet air to breathe, and per- 
haps ignorant natives whom they could make their wage- 
slaves. As for the timid, they were drawn to imperialism 
because it offered them a way of mental escape. Though they 
themselves might never venture out to the colonies, they 
wanted the satisfaction of at least knowing that the colonies 
were there. They wanted to be able to read about them in 
the penny press, and sing about them in the music-halls. 
They wanted to be able to point them out on the map, and 
gloat: "See 'em? They're all ours!" 

Fools? Certainly they were fools. But to call them that is 
to say no more than that they were human beings. Like all 
human beings, they wanted to count for something, wanted 
to feel important and imperialism gave them the means. 
It served them precisely as nationalism was serving their 
laggard contemporaries on the Continent, for imperialism 
was nothing but nationalism boiling over. Both alike en- 
abled the timid to puff themselves up until their heads reeled 
and they could imagine themselves giants. Both alike 
brought comfort to the downtrodden by encouraging them 
to identify themselves with the treaders. And Britain, it 
must be realized, contained millions who were downtrodden. 

It is true that the lot of the average toiler there had im- 


proved somewhat. He had more to eat than in former times, 
knew the taste of more comforts, and was less at the mercy 
of his masters. But these gains, far from making him con- 
tent, had served only to leave him the more frustrate. He 
had managed to rise just high enough to see how low he 
stood. This filled all his being with gall. 

Yet what could he do ? How was he to allay his sense of 
frustration? He could no longer easily steep himself in re- 
ligion : he had lost the necessary innocence. He did not dare 
shout for revolution : he did not have sufficient courage. He 
could hardly keep getting drunk: he had too much sense 
and not enough money. Apparently there was only one way 
for him to assuage the misery in his soul. He had to drug 
himself with patriotism. 

And thus it came about that the Tories were able to whip 
up a popular clamor for reviving the Empire. Nevertheless 
the government refused to act. Parliament was still con- 
trolled by the Liberals, and these were still averse to colo- 
neering. Being good businessmen, they believed in economic 
exploitation, not military exploits. Whereupon certain of 
the wilder Tories decided to "dish the Whigs" as they had 
once been dished by them. The latter, it will be recalled, had 
managed to attain power in the 1830 5 s by enforcing a new 
deal in politics which gave the urban upstarts the right to 
vote. Now, thirty years later, the vanquished gentry set 
out to turn the tables by going their victors one better. 
They demanded votes for the urban downtrodden. 

Here was irony with a vengeance. The highest in the land 
struck up a partnership with the rabble. (How the ghost 
of Feargus O'Connor, the old Chartist, must have roared!) 
Haughty British aristocrats, musty dukes and crusty 
squires, suddenly draped themselves in the mantle of right- 
eousness and began to snort for more democracy. 


The turnabout was engineered largely by one man, and 
he, significantly, was neither an aristocrat nor quite a Brit- 
isher. His name was Benj amin Disraeli, and his grandfather 
had been literally a merchant of Venice. Few characters in 
modern history present a more fascinating psychological 
study than does this "Dizzy." His whole career was like the 
costume he affected dazzling, dashing, excessive. A Jew, it 
has well been said, is just like anybody else, only more so; 
and in at least that respect Disraeli was all too true to his 
stock. Whatever he set out to do he overdid. 

That may help to explain why he joined the Tories in the 
first place. He wanted to prove himself thoroughly, utterly, 
supremely a Britisher. It may also help to explain why, once 
he joined them, he insisted on becoming their leader. He 
must have felt that he needed to confirm what he had al- 
ready proved. He it was who led the aristocrats into that 
strange alliance with the mob. He was canny enough to see 
that if the workers were given the vote, they would inev- 
itably use it to send gentlemen rather than businessmen to 
Parliament. And in this he was right at least temporarily. 
When, in 1874, the enfranchised rabble got its first real 
chance to flock to the polls, the Tories carried the elections 

Then the Empire was reborn. 


ITH the Tories in control of Par- 
liament, and Disraeli in control 
of the Tories, the dawn came np 
like thunder on a new day in his- 
tory. It was preceded by a stroke 
of lightning: Britain snapped up 
a block of shares in the vital Suez 
Canal Company. And then the 
thunder pealed forth: Britain's 
Queen was formally proclaimed Empress of India, After 
that, Disraeli retired to the House of Lords as the Earl of 



Beaconsfield. His work was done. He had slipped the leash 
on the British lion, and now he could sit back and watch it 

And how it did prowl! First it stalked westward out of 
India to devour Baluchistan, then eastward to swallow Bur- 
ma and Malaya., then northward to claw at Thibet. It 
pounced on Wei-hai-wei on the coast of China, on Cyprus 
in the Mediterranean, on Fiji, New Guinea, and countless 
other islands in the South Seas. And then there was Africa. 
Starting from the north, it bolted Egypt, Somaliland, Kenya, 
Zanzibar, and most of the Sudan ; stalking from the south, 
it seized Bechuanaland, Zululand, Matabeleland, Uganda, 
and the Boer Republics. 

For thirty years the British lion kept prowling and prey- 
ing thus, and not until a fourth of the entire planet lay be- 
tween its paws did it think to rest. Then, sinking to its 
haunches, it seemed to glare at the sun and growl : Try and 
set on me now! 

Never before in history had any nation acquired so enor- 
mous an empire, and the feat, needless to say, was not ac- 
complished with ease. Luck certainly set the stage for it, 
but pluck was what kept the show going. Whole armies of 
hale young Englishmen and also Scotsmen, Welshmen, 
Irishmen, and a hundred other breeds gave their lives to 
wrest the new colonies. They were ambushed in mountain 
passes and drowned in steaming swamps. Thirst tortured 
them, fevers laid them low, boredom drove them mad. Those 
soldiers were real heroes, God rest their souls 1 

Yet it must be recorded that valor accounted for only 
part of the triumph. Cunning accomplished even more. The 
British employed every type of cunning from diplomatic 
artfulness to brazen treachery. To be sure, compared with 


earlier empire-builders and later ones their conduct was 
almost saintly. But it could have been saintlier. 

Consider, for example, how they helped themselves to 
what was called Matabeleland. The inhabitants of that re- 
gion were a ferocious Negro shepherd-folk who asked noth- 
ing but to be left alone to roam and fight on the grassy 
plateau which they had made their home. But one day in 
1888 three Englishmen among them a fellow of All Souls 
College, Oxford approached Lo Bengula, the Matabele 
chief, with a proposition. They would give him, they said, 
a thousand rifles, a hundred thousand cartridges, and also 
a monthly stipend, if he would give them merely the right 
to see if there was gold on the frontier of his realm. Lo 
Bengula shook his head. His people, he said, wanted white 
men to keep their distance. But when the delegation offered 
to throw in a second-hand steamboat, covetousness and 
champagne got the better of the chief. Trustingly, he put 
his mark on a piece of paper, and the strangers departed. 

But soon other strangers came, whole swarms of stran- 
gers who proceeded to stake out claims as far as the hori- 
zon. Apparently Lo Bengula had signed away the rights to 
all the minerals in his entire domain. The white men had 
that piece of paper to prove it, and waved it in his face 
when he tried to order them away. Whereupon the chief dic- 
tated a letter of protest to the fabled Queen who ruled over 
those white men. Twice he wrote to her as one monarch to 
another, requesting that she denounce the shabby trick that 
had been played on him. But when a reply finally came, it 
curtly informed Lo Bengula that he must surely be mis- 
taken, since the Britishers involved in the dispute were 
known to be most honorable gentlemen. 

That was the last straw. Rallying his black braves, Lo 
Bengula prepared for battle. Three months he fought like a 


hero and a savage until at last Ms whole army was cut 
down. And then, having chased him into hiding, the white 
victors proclaimed all his lands forfeit to their Queen. 

That was a typical incident a bit flagrant perhaps, but 
none the less typical. The pukka British attitude seemed to 
be that a lie was not a lie unless it was told to someone im- 
portant enough to deserve to be told the truth. That, ob- 
viously, ruled out mere "natives," and in consequence the 
path of British glory was paved thick with skulduggery. 
Not as thick, certainly, as the path of Mongol glory in the 
Thirteenth Century, or that of Nazi glory in the Twentieth. 
But thick enough. 

There was of course some suspicion of this at home, and 
it aroused no little protest. The Socialists protested, the 
Anarchists protested, and the brotherly-loving Quakers 
shook their heads and deplored. But who cared to listen to 
such folk? The ordinary Britisher preferred to believe that 
the empire-builders were practically paragons of virtue. 
Were they not carrying Christian decency into the sinks of 
heathendom, and British civilization into the haunts of sav- 
agery? Were they not teaching head-hunters to see the 
naughtiness of their ways, and cannibals the indelicacy of 
their diet? Were they not suppressing banditry, daughter- 
slaughter, widow-killing, slave-snatching, and all the other 
wicked practices which heathen breeds seemed to adore? Of 
course they were! 

So the cries of protest were drowned out in a chorus of 
cheers. Eventually nearly everybody at home learnt to 
cheer, including even the businessmen. For the latter tardily 
discovered that they had been wrong about imperialism. 
Apparently it was not at all an indulgence born of folly 
and breeding waste. On the contrary, it seemed to be a 
sound investment. It actually paid. 


Imperialism paid, first of all, because it compelled sav- 
ages to put on clothes, taught them to crave forks, um- 
brellas, and guns, and thus created new markets for British 
goods. Moreover, being controlled by Britain, these markets 
were safe from ever being "protected" against her. 

Imperialism paid, secondly, because it opened up new 
sources of raw materials. No longer need Lancashire depend 
for its life on cotton imported from the United States. 
Egypt could supply a far better grade, and India as good 
a one far more reliably. Tin could be procured from 
Malaya, zinc from Burma, hardwood from Ceylon, copra 
from Fiji, bullion from South Africa, rubber from Central 
Africa, hemp from the West Indies. Moreover, such com- 
modities could be procured cheaply, since the British could 
see to it that the natives did not learn about trade-unions. 

And imperialism paid, finally, because it opened up new 
fields for capital investment. Money was needed to clear 
jungles, dig mines, dredge harbors, and lay out towns. It 
was needed to build smelters, railways, docks, and ware- 
houses. And British money naturally got the best chance to 
finance such enterprises, since British officials ruled the 
lands where they were started. 

So it was no wonder that businessmen learned to cheer. 
They came to see that the prowling lion bore a halo made 
of solid gold. Before long, indeed, many businessmen were 
not content merely to cheer. They personally took the lion 
by the mane and tugged to show it just where to prowl. 
There was Cecil Rhodes, for example: he tugged so hard 
that he enriched Britain with more than half-a-million 
square miles of African soil. At the same time he sieved 
enough diamonds and gold out of that soil to enrich himself 
with well over a hundred million dollars. But this, he be- 
lieved, was as it should be. Imperialism, in his authoritative 


opinion, was nothing but "philanthropy plus five per cent.** 
And most of the people back home seemed to agree. Only 
the most skeptical Englishmen thought to analyze the na- 
ture of the philanthropy, and only the most jaundiced 
stopped to ask who got the five per cent. The rest were car- 
ried away by the idea that a way had at last been found 
whereby they could serve God and Mammon at one time. 
The joke, of course, was on them. Whether they were really 
serving God, only God knows; but most of them were cer- 
tainly not serving Mammon. The average Englishman was 
not making a ha'penny out of the colonies. On the contrary, 
seeing that he had to foot the bill for the army and navy 
and Colonial Office, he was really out of pocket. 

Imperialism was actually a sound investment only for 
those who actually did the investing. There was immense 
profit in it, but solely for a few soldiers of fortune and cap- 
tains of industry and princes of finance. Certain shipping 
magnates made millions out of the colonies ; so did certain 
promoters, importers, adventurers, and munitioneers. But 
the rest of the home population got nothing out of them at 
all at least, financially. This, however, was not generally 
understood. It was imagined that what enriched some Eng- 
lishmen, enriched all of them. 

It did on paper. The proof of it was that after 1870 
the "national wealth" of Great Britain began to grow on 
paper at the rate of nearly a billion dollars a year. 


UT Britain was not the only na- 
tion to wake up suddenly to the 
value of colonies. France discov- 
ered it even sooner, and had she 
not been halted by misadventure 
at home, she might have seized 
what became the lion's share. As 
early as 1852 the ruler of France^ 
formerly a mere President, offi- 
cially proclaimed himself an Emperor, for he had already 

laid plans to coloneer all around the globe. Nor did he lose 




any time in carrying out those plans. First he seized Al- 
geria in North Africa, then New Caledonia in the South 
Seas, then Cochin-China in the Far East. He even made a 
clutch at Mexico. But in 1870 he committed the fatal blun- 
der of tangling with Bismarck, and that finished him to- 
gether with all his .proud schemes. 

France became a republic once more, and for the next ten 
years her rulers had too much trouble at home even to think 


They called U (t la mission 

of promoting adventure overseas- No sooner, however, did 
the country pull itself together again, than it began shakily 
to return to the prowl. The move was not entirely a matter 
of choice. The French politicians saw the desperate need of 
recouping what had been, lost in the War of 1870 land, 
wealth, and above all pride ^and they also saw that this 
need could not possibly be fulfilled by striking back at Ger- 
many. Such a course would have spelled suicide. So instead 
they decided to strike out in Africa and Asia. That at worst 
entailed mere murder. 


Naturally, they did not call it murder, or even think It 
such. They described it as "la mission civilisatrice." In the 
language of Premier Jules Ferry : "The superior races have 
the duty of civilizing the inferior ones." So the French be- 
came dutiful. 

First they marched eastward out of Algeria to carry civi- 
lization to Tunisia. That accomplished, they turned south- 
ward to conquer the Sahara and all that was available of 
the Sudan, Simultaneously they deployed inland through 
the fever swamps on the African west coast to lay hold of 
Senegal, Dahomey, much of Guinea, and all of the Northern 
Congo. A titbit was filched in Somaliland on the east coast, 
and this was followed up with a real mouthful consisting of 
Madagascar in the south. At the same time they took the 
precaution of "regularizing" their position in the Far East 
by annexing Annam, Tonking, and Indo-China. 

Within little more than twenty years the French politi- 
cians were able to boast that all in the line of duty they 
had acquired an empire approximately the size of the whole 
of Europe. 

In the meantime, however, half a dozen other nations had 
become fired with "la mission civilisatrice. 99 The passion was 
kindled even in Russia, a country which was in most mate- 
rial respects completely barbarous. But the Russians them- 
selves insisted that those respects, being merely material, 
were really immaterial. They felt they had a right to go 
a-missionizing because they were supremely advanced in 
spiritual ways. They had a unique Soul, and were therefore 
in duty bound to let its effulgence shine on others. 

Not even the wisest or wordiest Russians seemed able 
to describe that Soul with any precision; but that, it was 
argued, merely proved how unique it was. Most authorities 


on the subject were content simply to say that it was 

Curiously, few Russians had known that they were thus 
endowed until well into the Nineteenth Century. By that time 
they had already devoted three hundred years to territorial 
expansion, pushing westward out of Muscovy far into Po- 
land, northward to the Arctic, southward to the Caspian, 
and eastward actually to the Pacific. They even crossed to 
Alaska and set up block-houses as far south as California. 
But their motives during all that period had been admittedly 
selfish. They had needed some occupation for their generals, 
more land for their barons, better seaports for their mer- 
chants, and larger revenues for their Tsars. 

Eventually, however, something began to itch inside them, 
and when they scratched a task at which they had devel- 
oped marked proficiency lo, out came that Soul of theirs! 
They immediately decided it had been there all along; but 
this is more than doubtful. All the evidence indicates that 
it was an importation from Western Europe, where the 
manufacture of national souls had just become a major 
intellectual industry. Being neither animal, vegetable, nor 
mineral, that foreign notion had entered Russia duty-free. 

And it began to flourish there like the cholera. First the 
notion was taken up by the few liberals in the land: the ad- 
vanced intellectuals, the more imaginative bureaucrats, and 
the most enterprising merchants. These professed themselves 
very proud of their Slavic Soul, but wanted to tuck in its 
stirt-tail and make it look a bit more "Western.** Before 
long, however, even the reactionaries succumbed to the fad, 
and then it was given a new twist. These reactionaries in- 
sisted that the Slavic Soul needed no "Westernizing"; it 
was perfect as is. And in the end their attitude prevailed. 
Almost everybody who was anybody in Russia learnt to call 


himself a "Slavophil," and took to talking far into the 
tea-soaked night about something called "Pan-Slavism." Os- 
tensibly this was an idealistic project to unite all peoples 
who spoke a Slavic tongue into one Soul-conscious family 
headed by the "Little Father" who ruled from St. Peters- 
burg, Actually it was nothing but the old Muscovite im- 
perialism with its beard combed. 

For the Tsarists were still eager for conquest. Though 
their empire already included more than a sixth of the hab- 
itable land on earth, they still lacked safe access to navi- 
gable water. And that, one suspects, was why they began 
to make such a to-do now about "Pan-Slavism." It gave 
them a perfect excuse for hewing a corridor through the 
Balkans and hacking out a door on the Mediterranean. The 
Balkans were largely Slavic in population, yet they were 
dominated almost entirely by Turkey and Austria-Hungary. 
So the Tsarists could say it was their sacred duty to free 
their "little brothers." 

They did say that. Year in and year out they fomented 
sedition and war in the Balkans. They stirred up the Bul- 
garians, the Bosnians, the Moldavians, and the Herzegovin- 
ians ; they intrigued with the Czechs, the Croats, the Slo- 
vaks, the Slovenes, and the Serbs. That, they said, was what 
their Soul required of them. It was their Mission. 

Now, if even so backward a people as the Russians could 
afford a mission, surely no advanced one could do less. Take 
the Belgians, for example. True, they were a very small 
people occupying what was no more than a sliver of country. 
But they had made it a great center of industry, and had 
acquired therewith much pride. No sooner did they learn 
about "la mission civiluatrice" than they felt that they too 
ought to take it up. 


To take it up, however, was not enough. One had to have 
some place to carry it and Belgium had no place. Unlike 
some of the other minor European nations, Belgium had 
not even existed during the earlier period of colonial ex- 
pansion. Holland still retained much of the territory seized 
during that period, especially in the East Indies. Portugal 
could still boast vast dependencies in Africa, and fragments 
all over the seven seas. Spain, too, had remnants of an em- 
pire, and so had even Denmark. But Belgium had nothing. 

This naturally distressed the little country, and espe- 
cially her ruler, Leopold II, who was a man of large ambi- 
tion as well as piety. He realized two things: first, that his 
country deserved to have colonies, and second, that she was 
too weak to fight for them. Accordingly he set out to get 
them as a gift. That took brains, but he had them; it also 
required influence, and he had that too. He was related to 
the crowned heads of England, France, and Austria, and in 
addition enjoyed high repute as a patron of religion, sci- 
ence, and the ballet. So when half a dozen of the larger na- 
tions fell to squabbling over which had a prior claim to the 
Congo Basin, he was able to persuade them to leave it all 
to him. 

His sole desire, he assured them, was to do the high- 
minded thing, and bring light into that "heart of darkness." 
He talked of sending in an army of explorers, engineers, 
and teachers, and of establishing a great network of hospi- 
tals and missions. To some people this sounded perhaps a 
shade too high-minded. As the Prince of Wales (later Ed- 
ward VII) declared : "Philanthropy is all very well, but un- 
less [Leopold's program] is practical, and gives a practical 
result, it will not find that favor in the eyes of the English 
public that it deserves." These misgivings, however, were 
soon dispelled. 


Once the Powers agreed to let the Belgian idealist take 
the Congo, he proved himself almost disconcertingly practi- 
cal. The region measured nearly a million square miles, and 
Leopold at once decreed that every uncultivated inch of it 
was state property. Since he was the state, and virtually all 
of the region was uncultivated, he thus made himself the 
personal owner of an area about ninety times the size of 
Belgium. He called it the "Congo Free State. 9 ' 

To prove his heart was in the right place, he first got 
rid of the Arab slave-traders. Then, to show his head was 
there too, he proceeded to fill the place with his own slave- 
drivers. Agents were stationed in the jungles to buy up 
ivory and rubber on a commission basis: the less they paid 
for the stuff, the higher was their bonus. If the natives 
would not sell, the agents were left to devise their own 
methods of persuasion. 

They did devise them, and the results were as bloody as 
they were lucrative. The natives were literally hounded to 
death. Between forced labor, forced migrations, and recur- 
rent pillage and massacre, half the entire population of the 
Congo Free State was destroyed within fifteen years. But the 
gain to King Leopold was impressive. One of the many cor- 
porations which he organized to exploit the region made a net 
profit of 1800% during the first four years. A second made 
1700% in six years. A third which he owned outright yielded 
him a personal income estimated at $1,500,000 a year. By 
the turn of the century he was one of the richest men in 

Nor was he the only one to gain. He had had to call on 
the Belgian capitalists to help him finance the Congo de- 
velopments, and these got their due compensation. So did 
the thousands of Belgian valiants who went out to do the 


actual developing: the explorers, soldiers, engineers, ad- 
ministrators, and agents. 

Even the Belgian masses came in for a share of the gain. 
Not financially, of course. The Congo Free State might 
have belonged to King Tutankhamen for all that the aver- 
age Belgian got out of it financially. (Could he buy even a 
tiny patch for his bicycle tire at a discount?) But the masses 
did gain in other ways. First of all, they could feast their 
eyes on the new splendor that their country was acquiring. 
King Leopold was littering it with a glorious array of pal- 
aces, fountains, theaters, monuments, museums, and gam- 
bling casinos. Secondly, they could take pride in the thought 
that their nation was doing its duty. Was it not bringing 
light into the "heart of darkness"? 

The yearning for colonies, it must be admitted, was mo- 
tivated by more than mere desire for pelf. One can tell that 
from the way the masses reacted in every land that rushed 
to imperialize now. Consider, for example, the case of the 
United States. The citizens of that republic certainly did 
not need more territory. They already owned an area al- 
most as large as the entire continent of Europe. Nor did 
they lack opportunities for capitalist exploitation. They 
had barely begun even to sample the resources buried in 
their own soil, and they had a home market for immeasur- 
ably more than they could produce. Nevertheless, they too 
became possessed with the notion that they must go adven- 
turing overseas. 

They got the notion primarily from the British, with 
whom they had not alone financial but even closer spiritual 
ties. When Rudyard Kipling published his brassy poem 
about the "White Man's Burden, 5 * the Americans immedi- 


ately assumed that lie meant it directly for them. It became 
a standard recitation piece at their church socials and 
school assemblies, and every sentimental and audacious soul 
in the land began to crave to go a-burdeneering. 


. . . they certainly did not need more territory. 

Of course, there was plenty of opposition. The leaders of 
the Democratic Party went so far as to condemn imperial- 
ism in their official platform. As one of those leaders ex- 
ploded, "Uncle Sam ought to know better than start shoot- 
ing everybody who doesn't speak English." All the sanest 
elements joined in the opposition, and so did some of the 
meanest. Parodists cut loose and sang 


"Take up the White Man's burden, 
Send forth your sturdy sons, 
And load them down with whiskey, 
And Testaments and guns. 
Throw in a few diseases 
To spread in tropic climes, 
For those poor healthy niggers 
Are quite behind the times. . . ." 

But such sentiments were generally branded ignoble. 
Americans with red blood in their veins preferred to listen 
to handsome young Senator Albert J. Beveridge, who on 
the tenth day of the Twentieth Century arose before the 
Upper House of the United States Congress and cried : 

"We will not renounce our part in the mission of the race, 
trustee, under God, of the civilization of the world. . * . He has 
marked the American people as His chosen Nation to finally lead 
in the regeneration of the world. This is the divine mission of 
America, and it holds for us all the profit, all the glory, all the 
happiness possible to man. . . . What shall history say of us? 
Shall it say that we renounced that holy trust, left the savage to 
his base condition, the wilderness to the reign of waste, deserted 
duty, abandoned glory ? . . . Shall it say that, called by events to 
captain and command the proudest, ablest, purest race of history 
in history's noblest work, we declined that great commission ? . . . 
Pray God the time may never come when mammon and the love 
of ease will so debase our blood that we will fear to shed it for 
the flag and its imperial destiny !" 

The Senator from Indiana did not pray in vain. That 
same year the United States annexed the Philippines, Guam, 
and Eastern Samoa, made a territorial possession of Ha- 
waii, pressed negotiations for the purchase of the Danish 
West Indies, put out feelers for the Galapagos Islands, and 
dispatched 2,400 troops to help police the Chinese ports. 

As imperialism went, that may not have been much. But 
it looked like a good start. 


NE summer day in 1853 a swarm 
of half-naked yellow men on an 
island in the North Pacific stood 
and stared in awe and anger to- 
ward the sea. Four incredible 
black vessels had just entered the 
bay, two of them propelled by 
preposterous revolving fins, and 
all four belching smoke. A swarm 
of scows darted out from the beach, and besworded spokes- 
men shouted up at the monsters to begone. It was against 



the law, they shouted, for any barbarians "all same for- 
eigners" to approach these Islands. During more than two 
hundred and fifty years that had been the law, and what 
few had dared transgress it had paid with their lives. There- 
fore, cried the spokesman, "Ikke!" which in their language 
meant "Get out!" 

The barbarians, however, merely patted their cannons 
and smiled. It appeared that they had a letter to deliver 
to the Mikado of these islands from the Mikado of the 
U. S. A. Moreover, they announced, they would not leave 
until they had both delivered it and been promised an an- 

Six months later they returned for the answer this time 
in a squadron of ten smoke-belching vessels and now there 
was not even an attempt to shoo them off. Instead they 
were invited to land and celebrate, for the reply to the re- 
quest contained in their letter was, Yes. Whereupon there 
was much mutual bowing, rejoicing, and carousing, and an 
interchange of presents. The barbarians had brought a 
miniature steam-train for the Mikado, and also four vol- 
umes of the Annals of Congress, two volumes of the Farm- 
er's Guide, three "10-cent boxes of fine tea," eight yards of 
scarlet broadcloth, one sheet-iron stove, one keg of whiskey, 
and many other gifts. For the Empress there was a flowered 
silk frock and an assortment of perfumery, and for the 
numerous princes a variety of novelties including clocks, 
pistols, a list of the United States Post Offices, and a copy 
of Owen's Geology of Mirmesota (2 vols.) ! 

Thus was the fabled Empire of Nippon finally unsealed 
to world trade. For centuries various nations in the West 
had been hungering to peddle their goods to the Nipponese. 
Now, apparently, the way was clear. 

But things did not turn out quite as anticipated. Once 


the door to Japan was opened. It became not so much an en- 
trance as an exit. The white man did not go in; the yellow 
man came out. In little more than one generation the Jap- 
anese learnt to do almost better than they could be done. 
They began to sell even more than they could be sold. 

This was certainly the most amazing turnabout in his- 
tory. As late as 1853, Nippon might almost have been on 
another planet for all it knew of the West and its ways. 
It was completely a feudal realm dominated by local gang- 
lords and their armed goon-squads. Life was as orderly as 
in a prison camp, each man knowing his place, and keeping 
it. The law prescribed where he might live, what he should 
plant, how he should dress, and even how much he might 
spend on festival days. None might leave the land, even as 
none might enter it. For centuries the population was kept 
at a dead level of about thirty million. 

But then those Yankee frigates poked their guns into 
Yeddo Bay, and Japan suddenly woke up. Busy-ness be- 
came the national obsession. The traders, so long a despised 
caste in Nippon, began to rush around with new-found in- 
solence. They ganged up on the local gang-lords, took 
away their swords, and helped revolutionize the government. 
They encouraged the peasants to grow more rice, nurture 
more silk-worms, and overspend not alone on festival but 
even ordinary days. They herded the village craftsmen into 
improvised factory-towns, and set them to spinning, weav- 
ing, and carving by machinery. They bored coal-mines, built 
railroads, erected stores and docks, and started shipping 
lines. The Black Life took hold, and urban boils began to 
break out all over the little country. Overnight Japan be- 
came the Land of the Rising Smoke. 

And that, of course, led to trouble. The smoke began to 
get into the nation's eyes, and these, being peculiarly nar- 


row, were acutely sensitive. Problems arose which had been 
undreamed of in the merry i.e. "short" old days. Though 
the main island of Japan was no larger than Great Britain, 
and very much less fertile, its population leapt from thirty 
to forty-five millions within a generation. How was the na- 
tion to sustain so many millions? By selling manufactured 
goods in exchange for food? But to manufacture one had 
to have mineral resources, and Japan lacked these almost 
as sorely as arable acres. All her coal was buried in narrow 

seams far beneath the 
surface, and there was 
exceedingly little iron. 
How and where were the 
Japanese to get more? 

They soon found out. 
The little yellow men 
were smart, and learnt 
to solve their problems 
almost as quickly as they 
created them. To be sure, 
their solution was not 
perfect; but it was cer- 
tainly no more imperfect 

than any the white men had discovered. How could it be, see- 
ing it was copied from them? Precisely twenty-one years 
after the first American gunboats arrived to open up Nip- 
pon, the first Nipponese gunboats sailed forth to open up 
the island of Formosa ! 

Japan started to grab. Having got a toe hold in For- 
mosa, she turned to secure a foothold in all the smaller 
islands along the way. Then she reached northward to ex- 
tort trade privileges from the Kingdom of Korea. Finally 
in 1894 she dared to pick a quarrel with the giant Empire 



of China, and drubbed it so thoroughly that she was ac- 
tually able to raise the Japanese flag on the mainland. 

But at that point a growl came out of the West. Russia, 
France, and Germany rose up in white indignation and told 


The little yellow men 'mere smart. 

Japan she had gone too far. They were willing to let her 
keep the islands she had snatched from China, and even the 
gold indemnity but not the territory on the mainland. 
This consisted of the southern tip of Manchuria, which be- 
sides being fabulously rich in mineral resources, was of im- 
mense strategic importance. It commanded the sea entrance 


to Peking. Japan was "advised" to give it back. She knew 
better than to refuse. 

But thereupon the breath-sipping little yellow men were 
given a lesson they never forgot. No sooner did they restore 
what they had filched on the mainland than the great white 
men turned around and blandly took it and much more 
for themselves. Russia "leased" a broad corridor through 
South Manchuria, Germany "leased" Shantung, France 
"leased" Kiaochow Bay, and Britain "leased" Wei-hai-wei. 
Whereupon a great bitterness entered the heart of Japan 
and stayed there. 

But Japan was not unique in that respect. A similar bit- 
terness had already invaded the heart of Italy, and for 
much the same cause. It so happened that Italy had been 
only a little less belated than Japan in throwing off feudal- 
ism. Moreover, she had encountered no less hardship in try- 
ing to take on industrialism. As late as the 186Q*s Italy had 
still been a collection of rival kingdoms, principalities, and 
vassal states, most of them ruled by men as hostile to prog- 
ress as the Nipponese samurai. Not until 1871 three years 
after Tokyo was named the capital of a revolutionized Japan 
did Rome at last become the capital of reunited Italy. 
King Victor Emmanuel II, who had spent more than twenty 
years scheming and warring to accomplish that feat, arose 
then and cried : "Italy is now united and free ; it remains for 
us henceforth to make her great and happy." But, as his 
people were soon fated to learn, greatness and happiness 
were easier to wish for than achieve. 

Geography was against the Italians. Their country 
lacked coal and iron and most of the other raw materials 
essential for large-scale industrial development. At the same 
time, owing to the exhausted condition of the soil, there was 


little room even for agricultural development. All that Italy 
produced in abundance was bambinos, and this served only 
to complete the nation's plight. There .were so many mouths 
to feed that nothing could be saved to start the factories 
"which might have provided the means to feed those mouths 
more generously. 

A considerable portion of the population had long been 
compelled to feed itself abroad. Millions had to drift off 
annually to the neighboring countries, or to America, and 
though some returned with their savings, the net result at 
home was sad. Those emigrants were mostly laborers, and 
their savings were slight. The real profit went to their for- 
eign employers and remained with them. Nor was that all. 
The majority of the emigrants never returned at all, which 
meant that Italy was being steadily drained of much of her 
finest human material. 

Now, being in a sense a new nation, Italy was all prickly 
with patriotic pride, and the thought of her plight dis- 
tressed her unendurably. She decided there was only one 
thing for her to do: lay hold of colonies. Where? Obviously 
in North Africa, which was close at hand, and Italian by 
right of hoary title-deeds. Had not Rome owned the entire 
North African coast fifteen hundred years earlier? Unfor- 
tunately, much of it had recently been seized by France and 
Great Britain; but not all. Tunisia was still unappropri- 
ated, a quite sizable land actually almost half as large as 
all of Italy and fairly fertile. Also it was rumored to con- 
tain excellent mineral resources. Incidentally, it was the site 
of ancient Carthage, and therefore in an historical sense 
Rome's very own footstool. 

Italy reached for it. Not brusquely, of course; she did 
not dare. First she made and paid advances to the bank- 
rupt Bey who ruled Tunisia in the name of Turkey; then 


she encouraged hundreds of her landless peasants to mi- 
grate there and start small farms; finally, she bought off 
the British by purchasing at far too high a price the bit 
of railway they had built between the city of Tunis and the 
shore. Then the rulers of Italy felt they had everything 
ready to make the snatch. 

MCOO 'AMseaiA , 


The Italian* came too late. 

But the rulers of France had precisely the same feeling 
and moved faster. No sooner did the Italians acquire the 
Tunis railway than the French provoked an ''incident" 
across the border, in their own Algeria. It was not the first 
time trouble had occurred there. The Colonial Office in Paris 
could point to a list of 2,364 occasions on which Tunisian 
warriors had raided the Algerian frontier during the pre- 


ceding decade. But now the French declared their patience 
was at an end. They ordered their troops to march forth 
and punish the raiders and then keep on marching. The 
troops obeyed. 

And thus the Italians were robbed of what they had so 
carefully planned to steal. Tunisia became a French "pro- 
tectorate/' and the approximate heirs of the Caesars had 
to look elsewhere for a colony. 

To look, however, was not enough. One had to have suffi- 
cient guns to point at the quarry and also to shoo off all 
other hunters. Italy lacked them. For a while she had high 
hopes of bagging Ethiopia, a handsome expanse almost 
three times the size of Italy, and alluringly undeveloped. 
But again she was foiled, this time by the native ruler. In 
1896 Italy sent out an army of 12,000 men to bring him 
to heel ; but the black king mustered 90,000, and in a single 
battle killed or captured more than half the invading host. 

After that Italy waxed exceedingly bitter. For thirty 
years she had spent herself to create an empire, yet in the 
end what did she have? Here a flea-bitten port, there a few 
rocky isles, in a third place an expanse of rotting jungle 
or blistering duneland. At the end of a generation all her 
dependencies together were failing to shelter half as many 
Italians as had died merely to conquer them. Italy felt she 
had a right to feel bitter. 

And much the same was true of Germany. Like Japan 
and Italy, Germany had started late as a nation. Unlike 
them, however, she had started strong, and might easily 
have gone on the prowl when colonies were still plentiful. 
But Bismarck held her back. There were certain elements in 
Germany missionaries, explorers, and overseas traders 
who were wild with eagerness to see their country follow 



right on Great Britain's heels. But Bismarck did not like 
the look of those heels : they were too heavily shod. Besides, 
he considered overseas possessions a luxury. "A colonial 
policy for us," said he, "would be just like the silken sables 
of Polish noblemen who have no shirts." Even when he was 
offered colonies practically as a gift for example, the Sulu 
Islands, Mozambique, and Indo-China he still shook his 

That was his attitude throughout the 1870*s, and even 
into the 1880V Finally, however, the tugging became too 
much for him, and he was forced to slip the leash. But that 
was all he would do. He absolutely refused to emulate the 
statesmen of England and France, and shout encourage- 
ment to his pack. If individual Germans went out and 
grabbed colonies, he would back them up; but he certainly 
would not lead them. 

So the Germans came out poorly in the scramble for 

. . . ...^ V:t*w> 


, . . relatively mean pickings. . . . 


colonies. They did manage to sink their teeth into the flanks 
of Africa, and also to bolt a number of islands in the Pa- 
cific; but these were relatively mean pickings, both in size 
and quality. They consisted almost entirely of stinking jun- 
gle or parched wilderness, and were as widely scattered as 
they were wretchedly peopled. By 1890 the French posses- 
sions were more than three times as extensive as Germany's* 
and contained almost five times as many inhabitants. The 
British ones were twelve times as large, and contained thirty 
times as many people. 

To make matters even worse, most of the races that fell 
into Germany's hands seemed to be peculiarly unmanage- 
able. This, to be sure, may have been in part her own fault : 
she was too prone to use her hands as fists. Her colonial 
administrators had a way of confusing officiousness with 
efficiency. They seemed unable to understand that wild fowl 
resented being made to step like geese. As a result it looked 
as though Germany would have to depopulate her wretched 
colonies before she could start exploiting them. That was no 
pretty prospect. 

But then a new Kaiser ascended the throne, and the Bis- 
marckian policy was summarily dropped. This new mon- 
arch, Wilhelm II, was a cocky, blustering young man who 
hid a weak mouth behind fierce mustachios, and liked to be 
photographed in a spiked helmet and sword. One of his 
arms was crippled from birth, and the same seems to have 
been true of his mind. He was obsessed with the delusion 
that he had been appointed by God to win Germany a 
**place in the sun." 

Bismarck had to resign. For twenty months the old Chan- 
cellor struggled to curb his wild young liege-lord, but fi- 
nally he was forced to give up. Wilhelm II would brook 
neither criticism nor counsel. He said he knew precisely 


what he wanted, and swore he would not rest till he got it. 
And what he wanted was more and better colonies. Ger- 
many, he bellowed, must expand. She must haye more room 
for her people, more room for her trade, more room for her 
army, more room for her pride. True, her total domain al- 
ready comprised fully one and a half million square miles. 
But the French owned four million square miles. Russia 
owned more than eight million, Britain could boast twelve 
million. Was that just? The Germans, after all, were no 
longer a mere peasant folk content to produce fodder, beer, 
and poetry. They had become one of the greatest industrial 
nations on earth. They had already outstripped all the 
others in the production of chemicals, toys, and cathartics. 
They were rapidly outstripping them even in the production 
of coal and iron. So they had to have more room. And he, 
Friedrich Wilhelm Victor Albert, by the grace of God ninth 
King of Prussia and third Kaiser of Germany, was going to 
get it for them. 

But that, he soon discovered, was easier to say than do. 
He had come too late. All the desirable room in the world 
seemed to be already either occupied or spoken for. Gone 
was the day when one could acquire colonies by merely 
lighting matches to scare poor natives. Now one had to 
brandish guns against other white men. And that was risky, 
especially when those other white men had as big or bigger 

Here was the sort of thing the Kaiser found himself 
forced to suffer. For years he kept casting covetous glances 
at the Spanish-owned Philippines, but no sooner did he 
think it safe to reach for them than the Americans and 
English intervened. That happened in 1898, when the United 
States, having picked a quarrel with Spain over Cuba, sent 
a squadron racing into Manila Bay. By "chance"' a German 


squadron was already on the scene, and for a moment It 
looked as though there might be a battle. But a British 
squadron was also there, and It maneuvered itself Into such 
a position that the Germans could not possibly shoot with- 
out precipitating a war with England as well as America. 
Result : the Kaiser did not get the Philippines. 

It was much the same wherever else he turned. No matter 
how strenuously he blustered, or how slyly he connived, 
nearly always he was balked or bilked. And that made him 
sore all through. It made his people sore, too. The Incessant 
frustration rowelled their swollen pride. Worse still, it 
cramped their swelling economy. So Germany, like 
like Italy, became a country with a rancor in its soul. 

That boded ill for the peace of the world. 


T BODED ill for all mankind that 
so many nations wanted to be- 
come empires. There wasn't room 
enough. The earth, after all, was 
not the expanding universe. It was 
no more than a fifth-rate planet 
dancing like a midge around an 
7i th -rate star. And that fact, long 
considered merely true, began to 
grow unpleasantly real now. Even as late as 1870 the earth 
had seemed inexhaustibly vast. At that time fully half of it 



had not yet been even explored by Europeans. But by 1900 
virtually every last comer of it with the exception of the 
Polar regions had been not alone explored but claimed. 

Where were the nations to go grabbing after that? For 
none, not even those that had grabbed most, felt they had 
grabbed enough. If you had colonies, you had to have safe 
access to them, and that meant you had to have fortified 
coaling-stations all along the route. Once you had such 
coaling-stations, you had to acquire the valleys behind them, 
and the highlands commanding those valleys. Imperialism 
was like money: to keep what you already had, you always 
had to get more. But where under the sun were so many 
nations to get more? 

Cecil Rhodes had a suggestion. Said he, 

"Think of these stars that you see overhead at night. ... I 
would annex planets if I could. I often think of that. It makes 
me sad to see them so clear and yet so far." 

But Rhodes was not typical. He could afford to talk like 
that, poetically, whimsically, since he had already done more 
than his bit in practical ways. He had plastered his name 
across a region larger in size than all of France, Germany, 
Belgium, and Holland combined. Other imperialists, having 
been less successful, were less inclined to gaze at the stars 
and sigh. Instead they glared at the earth and fumed. 

That spelled trouble. Too many hands had been plunged 
into the one small grab-bag which was the earth. Now that 
almost all the prizes had been seized, there was nothing left 
but for the hands to start grabbing from each other. That 
spelled lots and lots of trouble. 

The nations took to snarling at each other like tigers 
over a dismembered carcass. More and more they snarled, 
and every once in a while they pounced, or at least lashed 


out* We have already seen how Japan pounced on China in 
1894, and the United States on Spain in 1898. That same 
year Britain lashed out at France because the latter sought 
to snatch the Egyptian Sudan, and the next year Germany 

.* L.B 


He could afford to talk poetically. 

bared her teeth because Britain had begun to rend the Boer 
Republics. So it went year after yean 

But it could not go on so forever. Sooner or later one of 
those tigers was bound to lash too far, or pounce too wildly, 
and then ? Even the most rabid of the tigers could see 
what that foreboded. War would ensue, and then all might 
be lost to the jackals. The tigers did not relish that pros- 


pect, and decided to gang up to prevent It. They formed 
themselves into teams which were bound by treaties both 
open and secret. Germany, Austria, and Italy joined fangs 
for mutual protection; so did France, Russia, and Great 
Britain. The smaller nations, not knowing which alliance 
was less to be trusted, joined now one, now the other, now 
both at the same time. 

But this served only to make the situation all the more 
perilous. Now the entire world was likely to become involved 
if no, when war finally did come. Such was the plain out- 
look even before the close of the Nineteenth Century, and it 
grew ever plainer as the Twentieth unfolded. So a fierce 
agitation arose for more "preparedness.* 5 Each nation be- 
came convinced that unless it armed itself to the teeth, its 
doom was sealed. All of them therefore rushed to lay hold 
of more and mightier weapons. Great Britain doubled her 
war equipment between 1895 and 1905, and Germany* 
France, Austria, Italy, and Japan, struggled to do the 
same. Even piddling powers like Portugal, Greece, and 
Serbia began to gird themselves against the Day of the 
Sword. The entire civilized world took on the appearance of 
an armed camp. 

It was mad stark, raving mad. Each nation claimed that 
it was arming solely to preserve its own sovereignty. In 
other words, it was wasting its substance in order to pre- 
serve the right to be compelled to waste its substance. Could 
anything have been madder than that? 

Yet there seemed to be no way to stop it. Some individ- 
uals, indeed, did not want to stop it. Take Basil Zaharoff, 
for example. Just where he came from is still shrouded in 
mystery. (Pious people claim there is less uncertainty as 
to where he finally went.) He seems to have been born of 
Greek parents in Asia Minor, and he is said to have started 


life as one of those shabby "guides" who offer to procure 
lively diversions for lonely travelers in Constantinople. If 
that story is untrue, the more's the pity. Certainly Zaharoff 
could not have found a fitter apprenticeship for his life- 
work. Eventually he became a munitions-agent. 

He proved his worth shortly after he got his first job. 
The firm he represented, a German concern named Norden- 
felt, had developed a new type of fighting-craft for which 
it seemed unable to find any customers. It was a submarine, 
and the naval experts of the maj or powers had declared the 
contraption hopelessly impractical. The directors of Nor- 
denfelt began to fear that all the cunning, labor, and money 
they had put into the device would go to waste. But then 
Zaharoff came to the rescue. Sidling up to the authorities 
in Athens, he patriotically offered to deliver a submarine to 
the Greek navy at a bargain price. On easy terms, too. 
Those authorities could hardly have been ignorant of the 
ancient adage about Greeks bearing gifts ; but they were 
themselves Greeks, so the point of that adage was lost on 
them. Instead of showing Zaharoff the door, they begged 
him to show them where to sign. 

With that deal consummated, the rest was easy. Rushing 
off to Constantinople, Zaharoff presented himself before the 
Turkish authorities and inquired how they would like to wake 
up some fine morning and find Greek torpedoes zipping 
about in the Dardanelles. They granted they would not like 
it at all and ordered two submarines. 

Then the race was on. If Turkey had under-water ships, 
obviously Russia had to have them too ; if Russia, also Ger- 
many; if Germany, also Britain and France. Before long the 
diving monsters became standard equipment for all navies 
the world over. Zaharoff became one of the owners of his 


There was no holding him down after that. He had tal- 
ents, and he knew now j ust how to use them. His tongue was 
glib in many languages, his voice was gentle, his mind was 
sharp, and he could pass a bribe faster than you could say 
Basil Zaharoff. Before the close of the century he was in 
control of the English firm of Vickers, the greatest arma- 
ment concern on earth. He became a British subject then, 
and proved so loyal a one that eventually he was awarded 
a knighthood. 

His loyalty, however, remained broad. During the war in 
South Africa he sold arms not alone to the British, but also 
to the Boers. Breadth of loyalty was a matter of principle 
with him. He sold arms impartially to the French, the Ger- 
mans, the Austrians, the Serbs, and every other people that 
needed them. He even went out of his way to see to it that 
they did need them. He bought up newspapers, generals, 
cabinet ministers, occasionally even kings, and through 
them stirred up all sorts of war alarms. 

ZaharoiFs wealth and power grew legendary. Wherever 
his lean, ferret-eyed, goat-bearded visage appeared, it was 
recognized as that of the "Mystery Man of Europe." He was 
universally hated, yet almost as universally fawned on. 
France gave him a Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor, 
Oxford certificated him a Doctor of Civil Law, Monte Carlo 
hailed him as its patron saint. However, to the very last 
he died in 1936 at the age of seventy-seven he was never 
awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. 

What shall we say of Sir Basil Zaharoff, G.C.B., G.B.E., 
D.CX. (Hon.)? That he was a rascal, a villain, a demon 
who fed on human blood and bones? Perhaps. But in all fair- 
ness we ought to add that he was merely a businessman. He 
was a merchant, and like any other merchant, he tried to 


sell all lie could, for as much as he could, to as many cus- 
tomers as would buy. That was what he was there for. It 
was none of his concern whether the goods he sold were 
harmful. That was up to the customers. Caveat emptor! 

Had ZaharofF refused to sell munitions, plenty of other 
men would have been glad to oblige. As a matter of fact, 
plenty of others did oblige. If they never became quite so 
notorious as he, it was because they were less elaborately 
mysterious, or less annoyingly successful. The Krupps in 
Germany, Sir Hiram Maxim in England, Eugene Schneider 
in France, Alfred Nobel in Sweden all these munitioneers, 
together with all their associates, bankers, salesmen, and 
press agents, were in principle just as guilty as that sinister 
Greek. And just as innocent. 

They were simply businessmen trying to earn an honest 
penny by supplying a commodity in general demand. If, in- 
cidentally, they did what they could to increase the demand, 
it merely proved they were good businessmen. Ribbon-makers 
went out of their way to aggravate feminine vanity; hair- 
oil manufacturers deliberately excited masculine pride. Why 
then should not munition-makers do their bit to inflame in- 
ternational hatred? A good businessman had to see to it 
that the penny he earned was pretty as well as honest. 

Therefore, just as Zaharoff was no guiltier than any other 
dealer in arms, just so were all of them no guiltier than the 
dealers in almost anything else. Take the case of a man who 
sold quicksilver. In earlier times his work had been distinctly 
beneficent, since quicksilver had been primarily a medicine. 
Now, however, that element had become essential in the manu- 
facture of shells. Though mercury was still used to repair 
the damage done by Venus, it was being used even more to 
increase the havoc wrought by Mars. Consequently, all who 
dealt in mercury were to some degree henchmen of Mars. The 


same was true of all who dealt in steel, copper, oil, nickel, 
glycerine* brimstone, and a thousand other commodities. 
Even the producers of so innocent a stuff as cotton were Im- 
plicated in the armament industry. Without cotton there 
could have been no smokeless gunpowder. 

The armament industry had become an integral part of 
the entire industrial system, and though it was obviously a 
cancer, there appeared to be no way to cut it out. Indeed, 
the very fact that it was a cancer made it seem all the more 
valuable. Armaments were superbly destructive. They de- 
stroyed not alone themselves, but also whatever came near 
them. Therefore, in a perverse way, they were extremely use- 
ful. They quickened consumption, and thus blasted room for 
more production. 

In addition, armaments were peculiarly salable, hence 
highly profitable. Other wares had to be marketed to the 
public, and the public was chronically short of cash. But 
slaughter-goods were sold to governments, and governments 
did not need cash. They could issue bonds that is, mort- 
gages on the lands they ruled and thus raise ample credit. 

So the armament industry, though a curse to humanity, 
seemed a blessing to business. Even in times of peace it seemed 
a blessing. Whenever business began to limp, it could reach 
for the bloody crutch of armaments. Whenever there was a 
slump, and ordinary goods became hard to sell, some busi- 
nessman began to raise a clamor for more preparedness." 
That was one way to keep the factories going. The unem- 
ployed could be put to work making guns and shells and bat- 
tleships. It would certainly have been wiser had they been put 
to work making shirts and shoes and baby carriages. But 
those businessmen could not afford to be wise ; they had to be 
smart. They had to look out for their profits. 

So they kept raising war-scares and got their profits. 


T WAS mad. The whole situation 
was nightmare mad. Here was a 
world ready for peace, a world 
that needed peace ; yet it kept pre- 
paring for war. No one in his right 
mind wanted the sort of war for 
which the powers were preparing. 
A little skirmishing out in the col- 
onies yes ! Raids on remote fron- 
tiers, jungle battles fine, splendid ! Most good folk rather 

liked that sort of thing. The average citizen found it cheery 



to sit by Ms fireside and read how C his ? * army had just done 
in a lot of Moros, Tuaregs, or Fuzzy- Wuzzies. It made him 
feel strong and proud yes, and civilized. But a real war? 
That he definitely did not want. 

He knew that he himself would have to fight in a real war ; 
and unless he was very young, or burdened with an insuffer- 
able wife, he did not really care to fight. This does not mean 
that the average citizen had suddenly gone soft. He had been 
soft for centuries. The proof of it is that not in centuries 
had he willingly gone into battle. He had left that to profes- 
sionals. Ever since Roman times almost all battling had been 
done by mercenaries. That was why they were called "sol- 
diers": they fought for solidi, "coins.** But the situation had 
changed in the Nineteenth Century. The rise of nationalism 
had made every citizen a soldier, and had turned fighting into 
a public duty instead of a private privilege. Professional 
armies still existed, but they were used largely to guard the 
frontiers or police the colonies. In the event of real war, con- 
script armies were expected to go into the field. 

Virtually all the great powers, and most of the minor ones, 
had made conscription the rule since the 1870's. Britain was 
an exception, because it could rely on naval defense. The 
United States, too, was an exception, because it was too re- 
mote from powerful enemies. But even in these countries it was 
understood that, should the need arise, every fit citizen would 
be expected to join the colors. So the situation amounted to 
this: all able-bodied males throughout the civilized world 
were now potential cannon-fodder. 

That was one reason why there was little eagerness to let 
the cannons go off. Here and there one might come across 
isolated individuals who still talked of war as something vir- 
tuous and desirable; but they were almost as rare now as 
pacifists had been a century earlier. Even in Prussia, the most 


militaristic land in Christendom, the apostles of "war for 
war's sake" were considered extremists. Elsewhere they were 
commonly regarded as psychopaths. All right-minded people 
had become convinced that war was stupid, wasteful, and 
wicked. The very men who sold the cannons did not want to 
see them go off. They realized that if that happened, their 
own sons might get killed. Besides, those cannon-venders were 
as a rule quite decent and humane men. The same was true of 
most of the generals who ordered the cannons, and of most of 
the politicians who signed the vouchers. As for the taxpayers 
who footed the bill, they most emphatically did not want the 
cannons to go off. Their heads were stuck in the muzzles. 
What they wanted was peace. 

And they had peace. Incredibly, more than thirty years 
elapsed after 1871 without one major conflict. Of course, 
there were many minor ones ; too many. But these, being con- 
fined to the colonial regions, were considered merely colorful 
incidents. Within Europe itself, indeed throughout all the 
"civilized" world, there was approximate quiet for one entire 

That was good. It gave certain healthy forces a chance to 
assert themselves. Science was one of those forces, decency 
was another, common-sense was a third. Such forces had 
long been at work in the world, but largely underground. 
They had seeped into hidden caves whence they had tun- 
nelled stealthily, breaking to the surface only here, there, in 
a third place. But now these breaks began to connect; the 
welling waters flowed together. Men awoke to discover that 
despite all the frontiers between nation and nation, common 
ideas had begun to spread over the entire earth. 

Not all men discovered this, nor most, nor even relatively 
many. But some did. In every land some people discovered 


that they had comrades abroad. And they went out to meet 
them. Like cells responding to some chemical attraction, peo- 
ple with common interests began to collect and connect. For, 
in addition to the will, they had the means now. Transporta- 
tion and communication had become so vastly Improved that 
distance was no longer a hindrance. 

All sorts of International societies came into being. Be- 
lievers In political democracy formed an Inter-Parliamentary 
Union, agitators for economic democracy organized a So- 
cialist International, feminists established a World Alliance 
of Women for Suffrage. Protestants from various lands cre- 
ated a Young Men's Christian Association, and Catholics 
from the ends of the earth gathered in periodic Eucharistic 
Congresses. Even the Jews, chronically a divided lot, began 
to meet and squabble in Zionist conclaves. Scientists travelled 
thousands of miles to convene in person with their fellow- 
specialists, or at least subscribed to international journals 
which published reports in several languages. Educators did 
the same, and so did philanthropists, spiritists, stamp-col- 
lectors, even athletes. The ancient Olympic meets, the last of 
which had been held in A.D. 394, were revived on a world scale 
in 1896. 

The trend was so strong that even governments had to 
yield to It. Formerly they had rarely convened save to divide 
the loot after a war. Now they took to collaborating on the 
everyday needs of life in peacetime. In 1875 some twenty- 
three governments agreed to adopt the French metric system. 
A permanent International Bureau of Weights and Measures 
was set up in Paris to decide the standard length of the meter 
and weight of the kilogram. That same year thirty govern- 
ments founded a Universal Telegraph Union, and by 1882 
twice that number had joined a Universal Postal Union. The 
following year nineteen nations bound themselves to respect 


each other's patent regulations, and in 1887 fifteen adopted 
uniform copyright laws. 

All this was good. It showed that the world was ceasing to 
be a collection of cages, and that the word "foreign" might 
ultimately lose its hoary meaning. Thus far that word had 
had a hateful ring, for it had connoted a person on the other 
side of what the Romans called the foris, the "door." But 
now all doors were swinging wide. 

The Machine was responsible. It could not tolerate closed 
doors. The world had to be clear and open so that the mount- 
ing flood of goods might flow unchecked. We have already 
seen how the Machine levelled the provincial barriers in coun- 
tries like Germany and Italy. Now it was beginning to do the 
same to national barriers everywhere. It was making all men 
neighbors, and insisting that they behave as such. So the 
sudden flush of cosmopolitan activity was good indeed. 

But it was no more than a flush. Only on small issues would 
any governments agree to collaborate ; on all grave ones they 
felt they must keep jealously apart. For they were suspicious 
of one another and they had a right to be. Each nation 
knew that every other was armed. 

There was but one solution: disarmament. Unless all na- 
tions agreed to beat their swords into plowshares, none 
could trust that war would be no more; and without that 
trust, none could truly prosper. One did not need to be a sage 
to see that. The fact was so obvious that it could impress 
even ordinary minds. And it did gradually. In one land 
after another a persistent agitation got under way now to 
call a final halt to warmongery. The movement was started, 
naturally, by eccentric folk: pietists, anarchists, feminists, 
and the like. But eventually it began to attract quite respect- 
able people. Several minor statesmen took up the cause, and 


so did many major clerics, educators, and philanthropists. 
Here and there even a retired munitions-maker gave himself 
to it heart and purse. For example, there was Alfred Nobel, 
a Swede who had made many millions out of high explosives. 
Also there was Andrew Carnegie, an American who had 
amassed a quarter of a billion out of steel. Cynics might sneer 
that such men were merely paying hush-money to their con- 
sciences. All the same, it was negotiable money, and bought 
results. The dove's nest may indeed have been feathered with 
guncotton and steel-shavings but it was feathered. 

Pacifism became almost fashionable. By 1895 nearly four 
hundred different societies were devoting themselves to it all 
over the world, and between them they began to create a quite 
impressive stir. Special trains were chartered to carry dele- 
gates to periodic congresses at which extra wire-facilities 
were installed to telegraph resolutions to cabinets and kings. 
Huge printeries were kept busy turning out pacifist booklets, 
leaflets, posters, and subscription blanks. Pacifist oratorical 
contests were subsidized in colleges, pacifist sermons were 
supplied free to preachers, pacifist lobbies "were installed in 
all the major legislatures. A fierce crusade was launched to 
teach children never, never to play with toy soldiers. 

The net effect, however, was disappointing. It was almost 
as though the pacifists were setting mouse-traps to catch the 
hounds of war. No matter how they pleaded, how they pro- 
tested, how they whimpered, how they stormed, never for an 
instant were they able to halt the growth of armaments. Not 
until 1898 was even one little gesture made in that direction, 
and then it was initiated by the ruler least troubled by their 
agitation. Nicholas II, Tsar of all the Russias, suddenly 
came out that year in favor of a world agreement to check 
the military race. He had his reasons. Russia had fallen 
behind in that race. For nearly a decade she had been strug- 


gling to build np an industrial plant, and most of the money 
the country could scrape together had gone into railways, 
mines, and factories. Now her ruler woke up to the fact that 
in the event of war Russia was lost. Her armaments, espe- 
cially in the artillery branch, had become hopelessly anti- 
quated and there was no money on hand to buy fresh 
equipment. The populace was already seething with sedition 
because of the crushing taxes. And that was why Nicholas II 
turned suddenly idealist. What could he lose? 

But the pacifists did not ask why Nicholas II took up their 
cause. All they cared was that he had done it. The moment 
the Tsar issued a call for an international "N on- Augmenta- 
tion of Arms Conference," their enthusiasm waxed so strident 
that twenty-six sovereign governments including Siam 
felt constrained to respond. On the 18th of May, 1899, one 
hundred plenipotentiaries gathered at The Hague and pro- 
ceeded to confer. 

For ten weeks they conferred and conferred. Then, slightly 
hoarse, they went home. The Russian delegates, however, did 
not go straight home. They stopped over in Paris to see about 
raising one more loan for their country. They knew that the 
new military equipment would have to be bought after all. 

The Hague Conference had failed. Almost all that the del- 
egates had been able to agree upon was a pious resolution 
that "the restriction of military expenditures ... is extremely 
desirable for the increase of the material and moral welfare 
of mankind." 

So the race for "preparedness," already mad enough, grew 
even madder. Formerly it had been largely confined to prepa- 
rations for land conflict, but after 1899 its scope was widened 
to include the sea. Germany was chiefly responsible for that, 
or rather the man who had become Germany's Kaiser. On 


January 1, 1900, this might-drunk defective barked to the 

world : 

"The first day of the new century sees My army in other 
words, My people gathered around its standards, kneeling be- 
fore the Lord of Hosts. . . . Even as My grandfather labored for 
His army, so shall I in like manner relentlessly carry on and 
carry through the reformation of My navy, to the end that . . , 
the German Empire may at last be in a position to win the place 
which it has not yet attained." 

He was as bad as his word. Then and there he ordered his 
Reichstag to vote him nearly half a billion dollars to build 
the largest navy afloat. This naturally perturbed the British, 
for they felt that theirs must always be the largest navy. Un- 
less they absolutely ruled the waves, how could they perma- 
nently hold their far-flung shores? They had no illusions as 
to what the Kaiser was up to. He might protest until his 
mustachios wilted that "every German warship launched is 
one more guarantee of peace on earth. 5 ' They knew better. 

So a contest started between the two nations to see which 
could outlaunch the other. Soon France joined in, and also 
Russia. Japan, too, got busy, and that spurred the United 
States to follow suit. Even Brazil and Austria, countries 
which had formerly given little thought to heavy battlecraft, 
began to spend millions now for what were called "dread- 

The peace-workers grew frantic. They organized mass pro- 
tests, circulated mass petitions, and camped in the ante- 
rooms of embassies all over the earth. What they wanted was 
another conference of the nations. Failing that, they warned, 
civilization itself would be destroyed. It would sink and 
drown in debt if not in gore. 

And finally, in 1907, they got another conference. Again 


it was Tsar Nicholas II who sent out the call, and again, the 
meeting-place was The Hague. This time, however, eighteen 
additional governments sent delegations, and the sessions 
lasted not ten weeks but sixteen. 

Yet again nothing real was accomplished. The second 
Hague Conference, like the first, generated much fine sound 
and fury ; so far as concrete results were concerned, however, 
it got barely halfway to nowhere. The most hopeful thing it 
did was pass a resolution to reconvene in 1915. . , . 


OMETHING had gone wrong. Here 
was a world that hungered to 
thrive, that deserved to thrive ; yet 
all the time it kept racing toward 
suicide. It was surely a better world 
than had ever existed in the past, 
a cleaner, healthier, more orderly 
world. Never before had men ex- 
erted such mastery over nature; 
never had so many children of men enjoyed as much abun- 
dance. Slavery and serfdom were already things of the past, 



and brutality of every sort seemed to be waning. The de- 
mented were no longer kept in chains, and transgressors 
were rarely subjected to public floggings. In many lands 
there were laws forbidding cruelty even to animals. Religious 
dissenters were ceasing to be commonly persecuted, and ra- 
cial minorities were being less and less oppressed. Travel was 
Increasing, for it no longer connoted travail, and even com- 
mon people were sloughing off the provincialism that had so 
long kept them doltish. Women were acquiring a new legal 
status and social dignity. The masses were achieving un- 
precedented political importance. The dream of universal 
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, and Prosperity appeared to 
be growing a near reality at last. With all its faults, this 
machine-turned, gilt-edged civilization of the early Twen- 
tieth Century was certainly the best that mankind had ever 

Nevertheless it seemed doomed, for a cancer was eating at 
its vitals. By 1908 Europe alone had 4,000,000 men under 
arms, and another 6,000,000 ready to snatch them up at a 
moment's notice. By 1914 fully ninety per cent of all national 
taxation throughout the world was being used to pay for 
past or future wars. Even in the richest lands the govern- 
ments were spending a thousandfold more money on battle- 
craft than on scholarships. Everywhere life had to be de- 
prived of nourishment because so much had to be squandered 
on means of dealing death. 

Something was radically wrong here, and even the most 
gullible pacifists should have sensed as much. No matter how 
trusting they might be, how soft and sentimental, at least a 
little suspicion should have wormed its way into their minds 
that more than mere perversity was at the bottom of it all. 
But if such a suspicion did occur to them, few dared follow 
it through. The rest recoiled, stabbed by a dread which was 


all the deeper because it was repressed. They could not bring 
themselves to face the fact that militarism had become an 
integral part of the economic system, that war had somehow 
become a natural function of business indeed, that it was 
business. Most pacifists, it must be realized, were proper 
middle-class folk who took the capitalist system so much for 
granted that they did not even know it had a name, let alone 
a fault. They were therefore quite incapable of seeing the 
connection between profit and slaughter. 

This blindness, however, was not universal. There were 
some people who were well aware that warmongery had eco- 
nomic causes. And though these too called themselves paci- 
fists, they were such only incidentally. The most vocal among 
them insisted that before all else they were socialists. 

On a chill, gray day in March, 1883, a small group of 
foreign-looking mourners might have been seen gathered about 
a fresh grave in a suburban London cemetery. One, a lean 
bespectacled man wearing a fierce goatee, made a brief speech 
in German. A second did the same in French. Then a third 
stepped forward and launched into a formal eulogy. Sol- 
emnly, with the air of one addressing all the ages to come, 
he made known that the man here laid to rest had been pre- 
cisely the greatest thinker of his generation. "His name and 
his works," declared the eulogist, "will live on through the 

It took faith to utter such words, for the buried man was 
Karl Marx, and by 1888 even the police had half -forgotten 
his existence. But the speaker was Friedrich Engels, and his 
faith was abundant. That is easy to understand, for during 
nearly fifty years Engels* life had been completely wrapped 
up in that of Karl Marx. The real wonder lies in the fact that 
Engels* faith was soon to prove justified. Hardly had the 


flesh in that grave turned to mold when the ghost of Karl 
Marx began to haunt half the countries on earth. 

For socialism hegan to flourish then. It struck root like a 
weed wherever industrialism had plowed up the soil, and 
began to flourish uncontrollably. See what happened in the 
land where Marx was born and whence he had had to flee. 
By 1890, barely seven years after his death, nearly 1,500,000 
Germans were voting a Socialist ticket. True, most of them 
did not know just what that ticket stood for ; but all of them 
had at least become convinced that that ticket had most to 
offer them. By 1912 some 4,250,000 had arrived at that con- 
viction fully a third of the entire German electorate. 

That was not typical, since in no other land did socialism 
advance as spectacularly. Yet it was symptomatic, for the 
movement did make headway almost everywhere else. By 1911 
it managed to attract a million votes in Austria, and by 1913 
almost as many in Italy. In the French elections the fol- 
lowing year it carried one-sixth of the total poll. Even in 
Russia the movement took hold. Even in Japan. Even in the 
United States. 

And Karl Marx, more than any other one man, was re- 
sponsible. To be sure, this that was spreading was hardly his 
own kind of socialism. No longer was it a bramble of blood-red 
thorns ; instead it had become a bower of pinkish blooms. Yet 
the roots were one ; and, since Marx had done most to nour- 
ish those roots, packing them tight in a rich humus of the- 
ory and dosing them daily with the elixir of zeal, he most of 
all deserved credit for their flowering. 

He got it, too. The term Marxism came to be very nearly 
a synonym for socialism. In some circles this identification 
was of course bitterly resented. At one extreme there were 
certain strict disciples who insisted that the Master's teach- 
ings were being shamelessly betrayed. At the other there were 


certain skeptics who insisted that the movement would be 
better off if those teachings were completely ignored. But 
neither of these groups seemed able to recruit a mass follow- 
ing. The successful socialist leaders were those who steered a 
middle course, following Marx only where they thought he 
was right, and for the rest going their own way. 

Here was their argument. Marx, they said, had written as 
a scientist, not a soothsayer. Though he had ventured to pre- 
dict what must happen, he had done so solely by sighting 
along the line of that which had already happened. He had 
observed society become increasingly split into two unequal 
classes, and from this he had deduced that the process would 
continue until the inequality became too monstrous to endure. 
So much wealth would be concentrated in the coffers of so 
few, and so much misery would be pent up in the bellies of so 
many, that smash! With one swift and terrible heave, the 
oppressed would rend their chains and roll over on their 

That, it had seemed to Marx, was the fated program. The 
main social trend, he had insisted, pointed straight and in- 
exorably toward revolution. 

But was this still true? Hardly. It was plain to see that 
the trend had changed since the time Marx made his first 
observations. The rich were no longer growing fewer and 
more despotic, nor were the poor sinking ever deeper in de- 
spair. The bourgeois order, far from developing fatty degen- 
eration, seemed to be waxing hardier all the time. 

Marx had spoken too soon. Certain developments had oc- 
curred during the latter part of the Nineteenth Century 
which completely spoiled all his neat extrapolations. One was 
political democracy : the laborers haJTacquired tEe right to 
vote. A second was industrial democracy: the laborers had 
learnt to organize and strike. As a class they were therefore 


no longer impotent. They were still the bottom-dogs ; but, 
whereas once they had been able to do nothing but whimper 
and whine, now they could rear up and bite. 

Nor was this all that had occurred. The middle-dogs, too 
had failed to suffer according to schedule. The ranks of the 
small proprietors, far from dwindling, had swelled prodi- 
giously. So had the ranks of the salaried employees and the 
professional people. All the petty exploiters they who were 
themselves exploited had so increased in numbers and in- 
fluence that they had become the very backbone of bourgeois 
society. It was these middle-dogs now who believed most 
ardently in the principles of * 'rugged individualism" ; it was 
they who labored most obstreperously to preserve "f ree en- 
terprise." That was why they fought tooth and nail against 
the unions below, the trusts above, and the tariffs all around. 
They wanted more competition, not less. For they were still 
on the climb. 

Marx had not reckoned on that. He had taken it for 
granted that, as time passed, such people would give up all 
idea of climbing. They would join the bottom-dogs and 
snarlingly wait for the day when, as one pack, they could 
turn and make a meal of the top-dogs. But had that hap- 
pened? Had even one little sign appeared that it might 
happen? No. On the contrary, those little fellows were clam- 
bering with more zest now than ever. Even those nearest the 
bottom, the so-called "white collar workers," even they were 
still doing that or at least trying. In an economic sense 
these white-collared folk were almost worse off than the 
muffler-wearing laborers, for though their pay might be a 
little higher, they had to spend much more on laundry. Yet 
would they fall in with the laborers, join unions, strike? Not 
likely. They had their pride ! Laborers, they insisted 3 worked 
for mere wages ; but t hey received salaries. 


Yes, Marx had apparently spoken too soon. All but the 
most slavish of his followers could see that now. Apparently 
there never would be a revolution. The top-dogs would not 
invite one, the middle-dogs would not allow one, and the 
bottom-dogs would not start one. Capitalism would pass, of 
course. There, it was felt, Marx had been correct, infallibly 
correct. Capitalism was inherently so planless, so wanton, so 
self -destructive, that it would just have to pass. Moreover, 
socialism would certainly take its place. But the transition 
would be gradual, not sudden. It would be achieved by means 
of votes, not volleys. 

That possibility, as a matter of fact, had been entertained 
by Marx himself before he died. In a speech delivered in 
Amsterdam on September 8, 1872, he had said : "There exist 
countries like America, England, and . . . Holland, where 
the workers may well be able to attain their ends by peaceful 
means." Engels had lived long enough to go much further: 
he had conceded that a peaceful transition might even be 
a probability. No wonder, therefore, that many socialists 
should be moved now to go the limit, and say that a peaceful 
transition was a certainty. 

Such a conviction began to be voiced first in England, 
where a number of gifted intellectuals among them George 
Bernard Shaw and H. G. Wells joined an organization 
called the Fabian Society, and began to urge a more "realis- 
tic" approach to the whole problem of economic change. 
Fabianism soon found its approximate counterpart in Ger- 
many, where it was called Revisionism, and in France, where 
it was known as Possibilism. Eventually the heresy invaded 
every other land where Marx's teachings had attracted a 
following. And in each it swept the field. 

There was one exception : Russia. That, however, was easy 
to understand. Industrialism had not reached the Tsar's 


domains until the 1890's, and the succeeding years saw con- 
ditions develop there which were almost more appalling than 
those in England in the 1840*8. Consequently the Russian 
socialists could read the Communist Manifesto as though it 
were written in and for their own day. Only a minority of 
them in their own language, the MensheviJci dared ques- 
tion what it foretold. The majority the Bolsheviki re- 
mained devoutly sure that the only conceivable outcome was 

But that one exception went almost unnoticed. Most of 
the socialists elsewhere in the world hardly knew that their 
movement had even penetrated Russia. Certainly none imag- 
ined that its career there would ever amount to much. The 
destiny of socialism, they were all convinced, would be de- 
cided entirely in the more advanced lands. 

And immediate events seemed to prove them right. The 
Russian radicals actually did attempt a revolution in 1905. 
A stocky, broad-cheeked, bald-headed man who called him- 
self Lenin, suddenly showed up in Moscow and began to 
shout : "Comrades, to the barricades !" A younger firebrand 
who operated under the name of Trotsky, set up a "Prole- 
tarian Government'* in St. Petersburg. For months there 
was mutiny, pillage, arson, and murder everywhere from 
Poland to the Caucasus. But in the end nothing was accom- 
plished. Soon the revolutionists fell out among themselves, 
the Tsar's knout fell on them all, and the whole mad fire was 
drowned in the blood of those who helped start it. 

The moral seemed plain. It had been all very well for 
Marx to call violence "the midwife of every old social order 
pregnant with a new." But the world had changed since his 
day. Midwives were no longer in good standing. 

If the moderate socialists needed proof that they were 
right, they felt they got it in 1905. Revolution had failed; 


therefore, they argued, the one hope for their cause lay in 
evolution. There was no sense in outright radicalism that 
is, trying to tear up capitalism by the radices, the "roots.** 
It was wiser to try to trim the branches and graft healthier 
growths into the trunk. 

That became their official policy now. They entered poli- 
tics, got their representatives elected to the various legisla- 
tures, and started to trim and doctor with a hot and unre- 
lenting zeal. It was not long, however, before they began to 
see that the task before them was tougher than they had 
anticipated. Their tender grafts kept dying in the seed, or 
else got corrupted the moment they sprouted. And the 
trimmed branches kept growing back. Worst of all, they dis- 
covered a parasite grown around the whole tree which 
seemed proof against any surgery. This was militarism. 

The extreme socialists were equally aware of that para- 
site, but they were inclined almost to relish its presence. 
They rarely said so publicly they realized how shocking it 
would sound but among themselves they gloatingly whis- 
pered that militarism was in a perverse way their stoutest 
ally. The more the nations armed, the surer were they to 
go to war and, therefore, the sooner would come The Revo- 
lution. The moderates, however, recoiled from that line of 
reasoning. In the first place, they had no appetite for revo- 
lution. In the second, they argued that war was as likely to 
bring on something even worse; namely, reaction. A major 
war, they argued, was almost sure to do that, since it would 
give the old fighting caste a chance to get back into power. 
Capitalism might go under, but only to restore feudalism. 
That would make the goal of socialism even remoter than it 
was right now. 

So the moderates were all for peace. They made its preser- 
vation one of the chief planks in their party platform, and 


began to hammer on it hard. Their campaign, however, was 
quite unlike that of the conventional workers for peace. The 
latter kept appealing to the rulers of the world, and this, 
said the socialists, was silly. All the rulers, whether crowned 
or merely heeled, had a direct stake in capitalism. Did not 
their very life depend on accumulating profits? To get prof- 
its, they had to have markets ; to get markets, they had to 
have empires ; and to get empires, they had to fight. So what 
sense was there in begging them to be good and lay down 
their arms? 

The only hope for peace lay not with the rulers but the 
ruled. Only the common folk, they who got nothing out of 
war save debt and pain and bloody anguish, they alone 
could be expected to put an end to war. The one sensible 
course, therefore, was to arouse the common folk. 

Thus argued the majority of the socialists; and they did 
more than argue. They organized. As early as 1889 they 
called an international congress in Paris which sought to 
frame a program of action for the workers everywhere. 
Marx had convened a similar body twenty-five years earlier, 
but his prime purpose had been to foment the class war. 
This "Second International" was more interested in world 
peace, and said so. It demanded the abolition of all standing 
armies, laid a curse on all armed preparations, and insisted 
that in every instance the people must be consulted before 
war could be declared. The fact that no government paid heed 
to these demands did not disturb the socialists. Their aim 
was to be heard by the governed. 

And, as time passed, they began to tell themselves that 
they actually were being heard. One proof was the growing 
tendency of the workers to elect socialists to the various na- 
tional legislatures. That, it was felt, was more than a straw 
in the wind. It was the thunder presaging the storm that 


must some day drown all the fires kindled by the "bourgeois 
warmongers. 55 Socialist deputies were the sworn opponents 
of all military adventures. 

But there was another and even more impressive proof. 
This was the increasing willingness of some of the workers 
to go right over the heads of their governments. For exam- 
ple, when France and Britain fell out over the Sudan in 
1898, the trade unions in both countries publicly joined 
hands to prevent hostilities. Much the same thing hap- 
pened when France and Germany seemed about to come to 
blows over Morocco, when Austria and Italy quarreled over 
Trieste, and when Sweden was on the point of invading 

Here was something new in the world. The fact was made 
positively melodramatic at the Socialist Congress in 1904, 
when the delegates from Russia and Japan, two countries 
then actually at war, solemnly embraced in the presence of 
the wildly applauding assembly. It began to look as though 
Karl Marx had been right on at least one score. The workers 
of all countries were uniting. 

But not fast enough. The workers were not uniting nearly 
fast enough. As a matter of fact, most of them were not 
uniting even slowly. They were too patriotic. The cult of 
nationalism had got hold of them like a drink, like a drug. 
It had crept into their blood, their bones, the very marrow 
of their bones. They were all swollen with nationalism, all 
fevered and a craze with it. The fact that they were working- 
men seemed to them incidental, even accidental. First and 
last they were countrymen. 

If only the socialist leaders had seen that ! Not that they 
could have done much about it even if they had ; but at least 
they might have tried. Instead they lunged at shadows. 


They were too cocksure of the Tightness of their own atti- 
tude, too blinded by the glare of rationalism in which their 
own minds basked. Like Marx, they took it for granted that 
man was primarily a creature of reason, not emotion. There- 
fore, said they, the primary forces in society were those 
which the intellect could comprehend in other words, those 
rooted in material interests. Now, nationalism seemed to 
spring from non-material interests. By its own boast, it was 
something "spiritual." Did it not logically follow, therefore, 
that nationalism, being non-material, must be immaterial? 

Thus reasoned most of the Marxists, and it is hard to see 
how they could have been more in error. First of all, na- 
tionalism was by no means entirely non-material. Did it not 
create jobs for some people, and profits for others? Did it 
not spell power to politicians, circulation to publishers, 
glory to military men, and wealth to munitioneers? Secondly, 
even if nationalism really were non-material, that did not 
necessarily make it immaterial. The "spiritual" still had a 
tremendous hold on the average man. The time had not yet 
arrived (would it ever?) when he could live by his head 
alone; he had to follow what he called his heart. Thinking 
required effort ; but to feel, to believe, to sink into the womb- 
like embrace of faith that was sheer delight. And national- 
ism provided that delight to the point of delirium. 

All that, however, was largely lost on those fine intellec- 
tuals who so optimistically hoped to arouse the masses 
against war* They seemed as blind to the fell influence of 
nationalism as were the conventional pacifists to that of 
capitalism. Consequently their efforts were equally futile. 
Forces had been let loose on earth which neither they nor 
any other mortals could curb now. The seed of capitalism 
working in the loins of industrialism had helped to litter the 
earth with nationalism. This in turn had cross-bred with 


both the others to whelp imperialism, which in further turn 
had cross-bred to bring forth militarism. Catastrophe was 
therefore inescapable. 
Finally it came. 


HE miracle of it was that catas-i 
trophe did not come sooner. The 
stage was all set for it as early as 
1907, and from then on it was 
touch-and-go before some blunder- 
ing hand would ring up the cur- 
tain. There was a narrow escape 
in 1908, when the Austro-Hun- 
garian Empire suddenly darted 
into the Balkans to snatch the Slav-speaking provinces of 

Bosnia and Herzegovina, That enraged the Slavophils in St. 



Petersburg, and had Russia not been so weak at the mo- 
ment she had not recovered from her defeat at the hands 
of Japan in 1905 she might have mobilized. Instead Rus- 
sia did no more than growl. 

But three years later there was another crisis. France 
made a lunge to seize Morocco, and now Germany flew into 
a passion. However, Britain threatened to come to France's 
aid, so Germany cooled off. The Kaiser knew that his navy 
was not yet large enough to take on that greatest of all 

But the next year there was a whole series of crises. Italy 
had declared war on Turkey in the hope of grabbing some- 
thing in North Africa. That gave all the small Balkan states 
Serbia, Rumania, Bulgaria, Albania, Montenegro, and 
Greece a chance to turn on Turkey. Before they were 
through, however, they were turning on one another, and such 
a bloody scramble ensued that for months the peace of all 
Europe hung on threads. Austria prepared to invade Ser- 
bia, Russia got ready to attack Austria, Germany warned 
that she would go after Russia, and France seemed bound to 
fall on the flank of Germany. At the twelfth hour a compro-* 
mise was somehow arranged, and a treaty was solemnly 

It was no more than a truce. Every nation knew it, for 
each became panicky to add to its armaments. Germany en- 
larged her standing army to 870,000 men. Belgium adopted 
conscription, and France lengthened the term to three years. 
Russia voted millions for more armaments, and England 
hastened to build additional battleships. Even Australia and 
New Zealand started to stock up with weapons. 

Yet, despite all these frantic preparations indeed, be- 
cause of them most people believed that war would never 
come. They lulled themselves with the thought that they 


were making war too terrible to be possible. Even the rulers 
of the nations seemed to cherish that delusion. As late as the 
spring of 1914 the Kaiser and the Tsar were still exchang- 
ing letters couched in the most endearing terms. Right into 
the summer of that year the diplomats of England and Ger- 
many were amicably negotiating a secret agreement to 
divide up what was left of the Portuguese Empire. 

Amazing ! The writing was all over the wall, yet even those 
who were putting it there failed to understand what it said. 
So finally the wall fell in on them. 

In the year of grace 1914, on the 28th of June St. 
Vitus's Day according to the Christian calendar a hand- 
some, stoutish, middle-aged couple arrived in a flea-infested 
Bosnian town called Sarajevo. They were splendidly ar- 
rayed, especially the man, who looked rather like a prosper- 
ous baker dressed for a guild-masters* parade. Actually he 
was the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir-apparent to the 
Austro-Hungarian throne, and this was a state visit. The 
town had been heavily beflagged for the occasion, and ar- 
rangements had been made for great crowds to line the 
route of the procession and cheer. These arrangements, 
however, had apparently been imperfect, for only children, 
stragglers, and gawking peasants stood in the muddy streets, 
and these barely opened their mouths. Nevertheless the im- 
perial visitors bowed and beamed as they drove past. They 
knew their duty. This was a newly acquired province, and 
its surly Slavic populace had to be won over somehow. They 
bowed and beamed unremittingly. 

But then all at once they became frozen. A black object 
thrown from a roof-top was falling straight down on the 
royal car. Just in time the Archduke reached out, caught it, 
and flung it to the road. There was a blast, and two of his 


adjutants in the next car slumped in their seats. After that 
there was no more bowing and beaming. 

When the procession finally reached the Town Hall, and 
the red-faced mayor launched into the official speech of wel- 
come, he found His Imperial Highness unreceptive. "Enough 
of that!" the latter barked. "I pay you a visit, and you 
greet me with bombs I" Then he stamped out, followed by 
his wife, and clambered back into the open car. "Direct to 
the hotel !" he snapped. The chauif eur hastened to obey, but 
in his overeagerness he mistook the direction. Seeking to re- 
turn to the right course by means of a short cut, he blun- 
dered into a blind alley, and had to back out. In doing so he 
almost ran down a bedraggled, hollow-eyed youth who stood 
on the curb and stared. And then it happened. 

That youth was one of the band of conspirators who had 
tried to kill the Archduke an hour earlier. Since then he had 
been hiding in back streets, too scared to make a second at- 
tempt. But now all fear suddenly left him. He knew that 
Destiny was on his side. Destiny had decided that he, Gavrflo 
Printsip, was to be the avenger of Serbia's wrongs, and for- 
ever a hero in Serbia's history books. Reaching into his 
pocket, he pulled out a pistol, levelled it wildly, and fired 

Nineteen million people fell dead. 

That assassination started the First World War. No one 
expected it to do that, least of all the assassin. Gavrilo Print- 
sip was an ignorant, shiftless, half-crazed lout who had been 
told that if the Austrian Archduke was killed, all the rest of 
the Austrian imperialists would run to cover. But instead 
they leaped up in rage. They suspected rightly that the 
Serbian government was behind the crime. Serbia had long 
been hoping to play a role in the Balkans like that which 


Prussia had played In Germany. Its politicians yearned to 
create a great Yugoslav nation stretching from Italy to 
Greece if not farther* The Austrians, however, had their 
own plans for that region. They dreamed of making all of 
it part of the Hapsburg Empire. And now, seeing a chance 
to realize their dream, they drafted an ultimatum giving 
Serbia just forty-eight hours to come crawling. This, they 
hoped, would provoke the pugnacious little country to mobi- 
lize, and thus sign its own death-warrant. 

The trick worked but not quite in the way the tricksters 
had anticipated. Serbia did mobilize, but so did her "big 
brother," Russia. At this, Germany rushed to Austria's side, 
whereupon France felt bound to join up with Russia. Seek- 
ing to get at France, Germany invaded Belgium, and that 
was the last straw for Great Britain. Then Turkey got 
dragged in, then Japan, Portugal, Italy, Rumania, -Bul- 
garia, Liberia, and also the United States. Before the war 
was over, twenty-seven sovereign nations and five dominions 
got dragged in. 

Men began to kill one another. All over the world millions 
of men put on special clothes and went out to kill one another. 
They left the farms, the factories, the offices, the schools, 
and marched off into the trenches to kill one another. More- 
over this is the grimmest touch they went rejoicing. They 
had somehow been made to believe that in this grave mo- 
ment the sin of killing was no sin at all, but an act of grace. 
So the slaughterers sang as they marched to the slaughter- 
grounds, and their women and children strewed flowers and 
cheered. That happened almost universally. The voice of the 
people suddenly became the voice of Mars and it was not 
all* done by ventriloquism. True, there was an enormous 
amount of artificial stimulation. Glory-starved politicians 


did put many a word into the mouth of the mob, and profit- 
seeking businessmen certainly pulled many a string. But had 
the mob not been amenable to such influences, it would never 
have reacted as it did. Incredibly, the wild rejoicing that 
broke out when the War first started was at least in part 
actually spontaneous. 

Even those who had once been the most vehement pacifists 
joined in the rejoicing. The very people who had formerly 
stood' out as the noblest tribunes of world fraternity now 
became the loudest shouters for world fratricide. Of course 
there were exceptions. The Quakers, the Mennonites, and a 
few other religious dissidents held fast. Here and there iso- 
lated radicals held fast. But the rest of the erstwhile pacifists 
were swept away like leaves in a whirlpool. This was true not 
alone of the "sentimental" capitalists who had financed the 
great peace societies ; it was almost as true of the "realistic" 
socialists. For years the latter had sworn that they would 
never fight in any '^bourgeois" war. They had even threat- 
ened to call a general strike against any government that 
dared ask them to fight. But, once put to the test, they suc- 
cumbed with hardly a struggle. Their vaunted "class con- 
sciousness" turned out to be no more than skin-deep. One 
little prick, and patriotism came rushing out like blood from 
a stuck artery. 

Let me repeat : there were exceptions. The extremists, the 
so-called "orthodox" Marxists, inveighed against the War 
with enormous passion. That, however, was largely a matter 
of tactics with them. Secretly they welcomed the conflict, for 
they believed it could end only in revolution* They believed 
that eventually the sheep would sicken of the slaughter, and 
then they themselves would be able to ride herd. They would 
be able to turn then to the masses and cry : Did we not warn 
you? Did we not say you were being duped? Now follow us! 


But there were some also among the moderate socialists 
who stood out against the carnage, and in their case the 
motive seems to have been less tactical. For example, there 
was a gaunt, bent-kneed, lovable old sinner in America named 
Eugene V. Debs who dared to stand up when the war- 
hysteria in his country was at its height, and proclaim: 
"I have no country to fight for ! My country is the earth ! 
I am a citizen of the world !" He, however, was a rare soul 
and went to prison for it. Most of the other moderate social- 
ists proved less intractable, and showed an eagerness to end 
up in office rather than jail. Nor was this because they were 
knaves. On the contrary, most of those capitulators appear 
to have been honest to the core. At the core, however, they 
were common clay, so they were friable. 

All those men had been conditioned in childhood to believe 
in their country. The schools they had attended had condi- 
tioned them to believe in that; so had the storybooks they 
had read, the songs they had sung, the games they had 
played. And, once the war-crisis came, that early condition- 
ing broke loose and overwhelmed them. Suddenly they found 
themselves believing not merely in their country, but even in 
those of its statesmen for whom they had formerly professed 
the most hateful contempt. If they were English socialists 
they cheered to the welkin when they heard Mr. Asquith pro- 
claim : "We are fighting for the moral forces of humanity !" 
If they were German socialists they roared themselves hoarse 
when Herr Bethmann-Hollweg clarioned : "We must and will 
fight our defensive war for right and freedom!" It was the 
same if they happened to be French, or Russian, or Japa- 
nese socialists. Despite all their boasted self-emancipation 
from "bourgeois patriotism," almost invariably they fell to 
applauding the most bourgeois of their own country's pa- 
triots. They could not help it. 


And if such men, avowed socialists, were impotent to 
withstand the hysteria, what chance was there for conven- 
tional folk? The latter had never even attempted to outgrow 
their early conditioning. Never in all their lives had they so 
much as questioned the rightness of nationalism. Therefore^ 
no sooner did the war tide begin to flow than they flung 
themselves into it like fish out of a broken net. To most of 
them the net was everyday existence, the monotony and 
gray dreariness that had somehow overtaken ordinary life. 
War seemed to open up a way of release. In time of peace 
each day was like every other day, except perhaps Sunday 
and that was like every other Sunday. Each day a man 
had to get up, go to work, come home, go to bed, and then 
sleep till it was time to get up and return to work. Not much 
fun in that! A man wanted something to look forward to 
when he got out of bed in the morning, something exciting, 
something adventurous, something new. He wanted to feel 
that he counted in the world, that he had a reason for living* 
a reason for dying. He seemed to lack that in time of peace. 

Industrialism, it must be realized, had made existence al- 
most too orderly for most people. It had so mechanized life 
that many a man had the feeling that he was hardly a man 
at all any longer. He seemed part of a machine. He seemed 
a mere thing hooked up to an engine or a workbench or a 
counter or a desk. And he could not stand that. He was made 
of flesh, not wood or pig-iron ; he had blood in his veins, not 
ink or oil. He was a man, not a thing, and he wanted to act 
up like a man. He wanted to go places, see marvels, laugh^ 
fight, and raise hell. 

And that may have been the real reason why the masses 
proved so avid for war now. True, they had not asked for 
war; on the contrary, they had hoped it would not come. 
Fundamentally they were as averse as ever to getting them- 


selves blown to bits. But, once the die had been cast, once 
that war was already declared, most of them felt a sense 
almost of release. The average man was starved for a bit of 
excitement. So long as his betters had insisted on quiet, he 
had meekly swallowed his want and acted tame. He had tried 
to vent his lusts in dreams and secret reveries. He had pored 
over the reports of murder trials in the daily press, or rev- 
elled in scenes of violence on the stage and in the movies. But 
now he could dispense with those surrogates, for war prom- 
ised him the real thing. 

War set him free at last. It set him free to hate and curse, 
free to shoot off guns and tear down cities. Moreover, he 
was free to act thus out of duty. The very people who had 
formerly told him he must be polite and full of loving kind- 
ness now urged him to go out and shoot and kill. The silk- 
hatted statesmen, the sag-bellied bankers, the clever chaps 
who wrote for the newspapers, the holy men who thundered 
from the pulpits, the poets, the philosophers, the college 
presidents, the movie stars all the great folk whom the 
average man had been taught to respect and revere these 
suddenly began to tell him that his highest duty now was to 
shoot and kill. Was it any wonder that he exulted when war 
was declared? 

And thus it came about that the earth was turned into 
a slaughterhouse. During four years there was carnage and 
destruction beyond any true reckoning. To say that the War 
caused so and so many people to die is to say next to noth- 
ing. One must know how those people were made to die, in 
what bloodiness and horror, after what retching and pain. 
Some were killed instantly, being torn to shreds by shells, or 
pierced through with bayonets, or swallowed up in icy seas. 
Those were the lucky ones. Far more died only after hours 


of thrashing about on barbed wire, weeks of hunger in 
burnt-out villages, months of despair in prison camps. Mil- 
lions upon millions died thus. They died of wounds, poisons, 
sunstroke, freezing, thirst, exhaustion, and a dozen kinds of 
plague. Some were young men with weapons in their hands ; 
more were women and children caught between the lines. 
Never before in all of recorded history had so many humans 
been destroyed so cruelly in so short a space of time. 

Yet even when all that is set down, the real cost of the 
War is still untold. Many millions were killed, but they would 
have died anyway in time. It was what the War did to the 
living that left the lasting scars. It took millions of healthy 
and reasonably decent youths, and set them to maiming and 
killing by the clock. In addition it compelled whole popula- 
tions to concentrate on supplying the means for maiming 
and killing. No one can say just what psychological effect 
that must have had; but who can doubt that it was pro- 
found and evil? For centuries the race had been slowly build- 
ing a living tissue of inhibitions to bind down the beast in 
man. Now that tissue was clawed to shreds. 

But there was also a material effect, and concerning' this 
we have concrete facts and figures. During the first three 
years, the direct cost of the War was $123,000,000 a day. 
During the fourth it was $10,000,000 an hour. During the 
last month alone . * . But why continue? Figures so astro- 
nomical are meaningless. It is enough to say that the four 
years of fighting brought more material destruction, and 
resulted in sharper material impoverishment, than the world 
was ever quite able to repair. This was not true, of course, 
of the damage done right in the battle-zones. Actual com- 
bat was confined to relatively small areas, and the loss in 
crops destroyed, forests burned, ships sunk, roads and 
bridges blasted, towns and villages gutted, was made up in 


a very short while. The real hurt was done behind the lines, 
for there the war disrupted the entire economy. 

During four years the world failed to produce nearly as 
much as it destroyed. Luckily, enough had been stored up 
during previous years to keep civilization going on the 
planet* Even so, the going became hard, especially toward 
the last. This business of mass-murder was costly as well as 
savage. Someone has estimated that it required $21,000 of 
labor and material to kill a soldier in this war. (In Caesar's 
time the cost had averaged 750.) To kill some nine million 
soldiers consumed so much substance that in many places 
the living were left nigh destitute. 

The civilian population found itself forced to forego first 
luxuries, then conveniences, finally even necessities. Ration- 
ing of one sort or another became universal in the belliger- 
ent countries. In some there was acute famine, and in most 
there was chronic want. All over Europe, and down into 
Asia Minor, millions began slowly to starve to death. Scurvy 
broke out, typhus raged, and a new plague called influenza 
became epidemic. 

It was beyond bearing. People were no longer inured to 
such concentrated wretchedness. A century of progressive 
betterment had made them less tough than their forebears. 
They could still tolerate a certain amount of hardship, a 
certain amount of insecurity, a certain amount of cold, hun- 
ger, sickness, and general misery. Indeed, up to a limit such 
evils were considered normal and inescapable. But what peo- 
ple had to suffer in the course of the War so far exceeded 
that limit that finally their spirits rebelled. 

By the time that happened, the initial rejoicing was hardly 
even a memory any more. The surge of elation at the out- 
set of the War had long since petered out, for the populace 
had discovered that warfare was no fun at all. Gone was the 


day of pitched battling, wild charging, and heroic hand-to- 
hand combat. The soldiers had to spend most of their time 
fighting boredom in muddy trenches. For months on end 
they had to sit around in dark and stinking dug-outs, their 
eyes bleared, their bodies numb, and their chilblained hands 
scratching for fleas. Rarely did they catch so much as a 
glimpse of the enemy. When they fired, it was usually at un- 
seen targets ; when they went "over the top,'* it was usually 
to fight barbed-wire and piled sandbags. Mathematicians 
somewhere in the rear worked out the objectives with the aid 
of logarithm tables, and then transmitted the orders over 
telephone-wires. The entire pursuit of mass-murder had be- 
come almost as dull as running an abattoir. 

The idea that war would bring relief from the tedium of 
machine existence had turned out to be a fraud. The men at 
the front very soon discovered that it was a fraud, and 
eventually so did the people at home. The civilians found 
themselves forced to build more factories than ever, and toil 
in them right around the clock. It was all very well to sing, 
"Keep the home-fires burning." The real need was to keep 
the factory-boilers going. The entire population had to let 
itself get caught up in an endless whirl of clanking machin- 
ery. Oldsters and women and children had to go into facto- 
ries and make shells by machinery, pack food by machinery, 
wind bandages by machinery, nail coffins by machinery. All 
life had to be run by machinery. For war was no longer the 
sport it had been or seemed in former days. It had be- 
come a bloody industry. 

That was why the initial delirium was so short-lived. Peo- 
ple discovered the truth about war, and the truth made them 
sick. For a while they steeled themselves, gritting their teeth 
and swearing to stick it out. But as year followed year with- 
out sign of an end to the slaughter, the will began to weaken 


on both sides and resolution gave way to revulsion. The 
gritted teeth parted in a snarl. Faces drained of blood by 
hunger and fatigue turned ominously livid with disgust. Sol- 
diers began to mutiny at the front, and civilians rioted in the 
capitals. We've had enough ! they cried. 

So then there was an armistice. Neither side had won 
can you win an earthquake? but one side was a little less 
late to see that it had lost. Sullenly that side dragged out a 
white flag and offered to call it a day. 

After that came the night. 


FTER the War came revolution. It 
broke out first in Russia, where 
the established order began to 
crack at the end of little more 
than one year of military strain. 
The Slavophils had miscalculated 
in 1914. Like the imperialists in, 
most other countries, they had ex- 
pected the War to be brief and for 
their own side profitable. When these expectations f ailed, all 

Tsardom collapsed. 



It deserved to collapse. The Tsar himself was a weakling, 
and the Tsarina a neurotic witch. Their chief mentor was a 
lousy monk named Rasputin, who was as coarse and lecher- 
ous as he was pious and mad. The entire government had 
the quality of aged carrion. Most offices were held by men 
who were not even the best whom money could buy. They 
were lazy men, grossly incompetent as well as corrupt. The 
military authorities sent troops into battle without enough 
ammunition, often without even enough guns ; and the civil 
authorities were no less culpable. A regime so rotten could 
not possibly fight a long war. 

Rioting broke out in the capital as early as the spring of 
1917. The transportation system had stalled, and there was 
no flour in the bakers* shops. Twelve hundred locomotives 
which had been allowed to freeze up during the hard winter 
were still standing on the sidings like lumps of ice. Fifty* 
seven thousand trucks which should have been feeding Petro- 
grad were buried in snowdrifts. Women began to march in 
the streets, famished children at their breasts. "Give us 
bread !" they howled. They called their men out of the facto- 
ries, and these too started to march and howl. A million 
marching stomachs, all hungry, set up a howl that waxed 
each hour more ominous. The government, taking fright, 
summoned a division of Cossacks from the front. They were 
leathery Mohammedan Cossacks who could be relied on to 
fire when commanded. They did fire but on the police. Then 
the Tsar abdicated. 

That, however, failed to still the howling. Not the Tsar 
but all Tsardom had to go now. It did. A new government 
was improvised, a volubly liberal goverment headed by a 
benevolently broad-minded prince. Too late. Even liberalism 
would not do now, especially under the egis of a prince. So a 
socialist was put in command. He was a typical moderate so- 
cialist by the name of Alexander Kerensky, earnest, honest, 


eloquent, but a lawyer. Despite this, he might have brought 
some order out of the chaos had he been given a chance. But 
that chance entailed halting the War, and Britain and 
France would not hear of that. He pleaded with them to 
support the calling of an international conference of social- 
ists to negotiate a reasonable peace. Food riots had already 
occurred in Germany and Austria, and there was consider- 
able reason to believe that such negotiations might succeed. 
But the Allied rulers, having just drawn in the United 
States on their side, were in no mood to treat with the enemy. 
Nothing would satisfy them short of complete victory. 

Had those rulers listened to Kerensky, you who read these 
words, and I who write them, would be living in a different 
world today. But they did not. Instead they ordered him to 
continue fighting; and he obeyed. His country had entered 
into a contract with the Allies, and to him a contract was 
sacred. Was he not a lawyer? 

That proved his undoing. The Russian state was beyond 
the ministrations of a lawyer. What it needed was an un- 

It got one on November 7, 1917. His name was Vladimir 
Ilyitch Ulyanov, but he was better known to his followers 
and the police as N. Lenin. He was a scrappy, red-bearded, 
undersized man with a bald oversized head that bulged above 
the brows like a gourd. He came of respectable middle-class 
parentage his father had been a provincial schoolmaster 
but from his youth he had been a fanatical Marxist. At the 
age of twenty-one he had seen his older brother go to the 
scaffold, at the age of twenty-seven he himself had been con- 
demned to Siberia, and at the age of thirty he had had to 
flee abroad. At the age of -fif ty- f seven he returned to take over 
the country. 

As an exile he had lived first in Germany, then in England, 


then for years in Switzerland ; but never even for a day had 
his mind been away from Russia. All the while that he had 
lived abroad he had kept printing revolutionary propaganda 
which was smuggled into the Tsar's domains and there dis- 
tributed underground. His chief medium had been an inky 
sheet which he called Iskra, "The Spark/* and with this he 
had dreamed of setting all Russia afire. 

That was what set him apart from a man like Kerensky. 
As early as 1903 Lenin had drawn the line, for in that year 
he had deliberately split the tiny Russian Socialist Party into 
two splinters. The extremists, those who Relieved in total 
revolution, and who were ready to give their lives to hasten 
it, followed Lenin into his red BolsTiewk camp ; the rest, the 
make-haste-slowly compromisers, the romantic sympathizers, 
the discreet fellow-travelers, all these became the pink M en- 
sJiemJci. At first the distinction had been vague, but it sharp- 
ened after the fiasco of 1905, and grew lurid in 1914. The 
beating of the war-drums made the Mensheviks blanch, but 
turned the Bolsheviks redder than ever. 

Lenin from his G.H.Q. in a Geneva attic sent forth the 
command: "Convert the imperialist war into a civil war!" 
And his followers inside Russia hastened to obey. They were 
few but stealthy, disciplined, and boundlessly zealous : picked 
men and women who were ready to die, let alone kill, in the 
name of Marx. They fomented mutiny in the barracks, or- 
ganized sabotage in the factories, and provoked riots in the 
slums. Finally in March, 1917, when Tsardom collapsed, 
they came out into the open and demanded that their leader 
be allowed to come home. 

Mobs greeted Lenin with bands and banners when he ar- 
rived at the Petrograd railway station. They led him to the 
Tsar's own waiting-room, handed him a bouquet of wilted 
red roses, and then waited for his words of praise. Instead 


lie brandished his little fist in their faces and heaped them 
with scorn. "This new government which you have accepted," 
he roared, "is not a people's government. It is a petty- 
bourgeois oligarchy. ... It does not bring peace, it cannot 
bring bread, it dare not bring freedom. ... It must be turned 

Seven months later it was turned out. 

Perhaps only a Lenin could have managed such a feat. His 
chief accomplices were wordy fellows, and his mass following 
was slight. The entire Bolshevik Party did not include a 
quarter of one per cent of Russia's population. But Lenin 
had faith, will, insight, and a genius for timing. He knew 
when to wait and when to spring; moreover, once he sprang, 
it was with both feet. All through the summer of 1917, and 
into the autumn, he waited. He wanted to give Kerensky a 
chance to lose out with the mob. Finally, late in October, he 
passed the word to his lieutenants that the zero hour was 
drawing near. Some demurred. They argued that their Party 
was not yet nearly strong enough to take power. Lenin would 
not listen. "If one hundred and fifty thousand landlords could 
govern Russia in the interest of the rich," he snapped, "can- 
not two hundred and forty thousand Bolsheviks do the same 
in the interest of the poor?" That silenced the doubters 
that and also the knowledge that though their Party was 
small, its influence was great. Everywhere hot-eyed throngs 
were shouting its slogans. Everywhere they were marching in 
the streets and screaming: "Peace to the Soldiers, Bread to 
the Workers, Land to the Peasants, all Power to the Soviets !" 

So the authors of those slogans girded themselves for vio- 
lence. They still continued to harangue the mobs and squab- 
ble with Kerensky, but these were ruses to conceal their real 
moves. Behind the scenes they organized a "Red Guard" of 
disaffected soldiers, and equipped them with munitions stolen 


from the arsenals. They won over key workers in the tele- 
phone exchange, the power plant, the police stations. They 
arrange I for mutinous sailors to bring a cruiser up the Neva 
and hola its radio in readiness. Then, during the icy night of 
November 7, 1917, they struck. 

Twenty-four hours later, Petrograd was all theirs. Hardly 
a shot had been fired, yet the Menshevik government had col- 
lapsed, Kerensky was in flight, and the newspapers, the bar- 
racks, even the banks had capitulated. The Red Flag was fly- 
ing over the capital of one-sixth of the planet. 

The next day a little man who had been an outlaw for 
more than twenty years was proclaimed head of a new Russia. 
Rising in his shabby clothes before the crowd of henchmen 
who were now his government, he peered through the frosty 
steam rising from their mouths, paused for their throaty 
cheering to cease, and then quietly announced: "We shall 
now proceed with the building of the Proletarian Socialist 

That was characteristic of Lenin. In the midst of roaring 
chaos he could stand calm, sure of himself, for he was not a 
man. He was a theory made flesh. He believed that the root 
of all social ill was private property, and this belief was so 
firm in him, so pervasive, so absolute, that he could serenely 
contemplate overturning the world to prove it true. 

Rut the world, as we shall see, was unwilling to be over- 
turned. Even Russia proved reluctant. The abolition of pri- 
vate property entailed more than mere economic change. It 
entailed the demolition of all that had sustained private 
property, and all that was sustained by it. Religion, educa- 
tion, morals, manners, sex relations, class relations, race re- 
lations : these had all been molded by the traditional concept 
of ownership. To abandon that concept meant to scrap all 


that was familiar in life and most people recoiled from do- 
ing that. Even the poorest of the Russian poor, those to 
whom the familiar had never been anything but harsh and 
miserable, even they quailed before the prospect of starting 
life anew. 

Lenin realized this, and was ready to act on the knowl- 
edge. He reasoned that the masses could not be expected to 
desire communism until they had tried it; moreover, they 
would not try it unless 'forced to do so. He had read that in 
the writings of Karl Marx what had he not read there? so 
his course was clear. Following Marx to the letter, he set out 
to create a "Dictatorship of the Proletariat." 

What he achieved, of course, was at most a dictatorship 
"for the proletariat. Lenin himself was no proletarian, and 
neither were most of his collaborators. They were typical 
intellectuals, sedentary and bookish men with faces pallid 
from long nights of argument over tea and cigarettes. Trot- 
sky, Zinoviev, Kamenev, Bucharin: these, like most of the 
rest, were university men. Even Stalin, who eventually put so 
many of the others to death, was the product of at least a 
seminary. But here again Karl Marx offered justification. 
Had he not prophesied, seventy years earlier, that "when the 
class struggle nears the decisive hour ... a portion of the 
bourgeois intellectuals . . . will go over to the proletariat . . . 
and lay the foundation for its sway?" 

So Lenin felt that he and his band had every right not 
merely to seize power, but also to wield it. They called an 
immediate halt to the war and ordered the soldiers home. 
They confiscated all the private business enterprises and gave 
them into the keeping of the workers. They expropriated all 
the great estates and partitioned them for the use of the 
peasantry. "Comrades," Lenin cried to the people, "take the 
land, the grain, the factories, the goods, the railroads, and 


protect them as the apple of your eye all these are hence- 
forth your common property." All hereditary titles were 
abolished, and all who believed in them were threatened with 
death* The Orthodox Church was disestablished, and any 
religious indoctrination was frowned on. Prostitution was 
forbidden and free love declared quite all right. Divorce was 
made as easy as marriage, and abortion as free as vaccina- 
tion. Women were given complete social and political equal- 
ity with men, and the order went forth: "Every housewife 
must learn to run the government." Finally, all racial preju- 
dice was proscribed. 

It was a clean sweep. Apparently nothing was to remain 
of the "bourgeois" past. Henceforth there was to be neither 
rich nor poor, neither grand nor lowly, neither oppressor 
nor oppressed. All alike were to bask in the sun of science, 
all were to fill their lungs with the ozone of culture, all were 
to wallow in the comforts produced by machinery. This new 
Russia was going to be heaven on earth. And whoever dared 
to say otherwise was given hell. 

Nevertheless many people dared to say otherwise. Most of 
the poor who were pious refused to accept the new order, and 
so did all of the rich, whether pious or no. The Tsarists re- 
fused, the Liberals refused, the Mensheviks refused, even the 
Anarchists and Nihilists refused. Lenin and his band found 
themselves forced to resort to ever-increasing violence. They 
organized a pitiless Red Terror, and flung people into jail, 
or stood them against the wall, on the least suspicion of 
"counter-revolutionary leanings." There were months when 
they sentenced almost as many people to death as were being 
slaughtered on the fields of Flanders each and every hour. 

Still the opposition persisted. Counter-revolutionary ar- 
mies collected everywhere from Odessa to Vladivostok, and 
a White Terror was pitted against the Red. Foreigners joined 


the crusade, for the entire capitalist world had decided that 
Bolshevism must be crushed. First came armies of Germans 
and Turks, and then regiments of British, French, Czech, 
Polish, Rumanians, Japanese, and even American troops. 

But in the end Bolshevism won out. Despite that the 
armed crusade against it lasted nearly three years, and was 
pressed on more than thirty fronts, Bolshevism managed 
somehow to survive. Its chief savior was the man who toot 
command of the Red defense, Leon Trotsky. His real name 
was Bronstein, and he entered on his duties with absolutely 
no military experience. He was a Jew by birth, a writer by 
profession, and a revolutionist by inclination. However, he 
had colossal nerve, vitality, and talent for organization, and 
these more than made up for his ignorance of the manual-at- 
arms. Throughout those three awful years he virtually lived 
in an armored train, dashing from one front to another and 
exhorting his tattered troops to stand their ground. They 
did do that and more. By the close of 1920 they were driv- 
ing the last of the counter-revolutionary armies into the sea. 

Capitalism had only itself to thank for the defeat. It had 
invited defeat by failing to give ground in time. Had the 
Allies permitted Kerensky to take Russia out of the war, 
Lenin might never have been able to seize power, let alone 
retain it. And on the heels of that error, capitalism com- 
mitted another. Having agreed that Bolshevism must be 
crushed, the capitalist nations failed to cooperate and launch 
a united offensive. They did not know how. Being capitalistic, 
they knew only how to compete. Each of them feared to let 
any other go very far in Russia lest it go too far and decide 
not to leave. The British invaders devoted more thought to 
thwarting the French and the French, the British than 


either gave to fighting the Reds. The American troops spent 
almost all their time getting in the way of the Japanese. Os- 
tensibly those forces were all joined in a holy crusade; actu- 
ally they were rivals. So in the end all of them were sent 

By the beginning of 1921 the civil war was virtually over. 
The Bolsheviks had won out, and all that remained for them 
now was to make Bolshevism work out. But that task, they 
already knew, was going to take time and something else. 
The inscrutable logic or was it caprice? of history had 
loaded the dice against them. It had enabled them to get to 
power under conditions which seemed precisely the least favor- 
able for the accomplishment of that for which they wanted 
power. The day Petrograd fell into their grasp, they had 
boasted to the world : "We, the Soviets of Worker, Soldier, 
and Peasant delegates, are on the point of making an experi- 
ment that has not had its like in history." But by the time 
they had taken the rest of the land, they were inclined to use 
a soberer tone. Though still sure that the experiment ought 
to work, they were not so sure that it would. 

It had finally dawned on the less impervious Bolsheviks 
that they had perhaps gone at the experiment in the wrong 
spirit. Their approach had been that of doctrinaires, not 
scientists. Communism had been to them an immaculate con- 
ception, and Marx a sort of Holy Ghost. They had not said : 
Let's try collective ownership and see if it works. They had 
set out with the fixed notion that it must work. And now they 
could see all too plainly that it hadn't. Though the bour- 
geoisie had long since been expropriated, and only sworn 
devotees of the proletariat were running the economy, living 
conditions were getting worse all the time. The workers were 
arguing more than they were working, for they had been told 


they were the bosses now and what was the good of being a 
boss if you couldn't take time off to argue? But argument 
didn't produce goods. Less coal and iron were being mined 
in a month in 1920 than had been delivered in a day in 1913. 
So little leather was being tanned in 1921 that people even 
in the cities were going barefoot. And, as a direct result, food 
too was getting desperately scarce. The peasants were refus- 
ing to grow more than just enough to feed themselves. What 
was the use of producing a surplus when all you could get in 
exchange for it was worthless paper-money? Nor did it help 
much if the government sent armed agents to collect food by 
force. The railways were in such disrepair that half the time 
the loot went to rot before it could be delivered to the cities. 
The fetid breath of hunger gathered like a pall over the 
entire land, and such a howl went up as even Russia had never 
heard before. For a generation the revolutionists had sung: 
"Arise, ye prisoners of starvation !" Well, here they had arisen, 
and what had it got them? 

The fact was plain : total communism had failed. The Bol- 
shevik surgeons had apparently been over-zealous. They had 
hacked out the capitalist gland with such hammer-and-sickle 
thoroughness that now the whole economy refused to func- 
tion. With wages virtually abolished, and all profit-making 
officially suppressed, the common man felt no incentive to 
strive and contrive and bring forth plenty. 

What to do? Should the Bolsheviks admit they had erred, 
and restore the unspeakable gland? Many of them flew into a 
rage at the very suggestion. All that was needed, they stormed, 
was more terror. A little more violence, they insisted, a little 
more pummelling and pounding, and the body would simply 
have to come to life again. But there were others who knew 
better. These could see that they had already exhausted the 
potency of terror. Even the agents on whom they had to rely 


to wield the terror, the soldiers and sailors and militiamen, 
even they were beginning to balk. The only way out, there- 
fore, was to relent. Lenin himself became convinced of that, 
and made open confession of the fact. Whereupon a "New 
Economic Policy" was adopted. 

That happened in 1921. Private enterprise was permitted 
to return though only on its knees. Whoever could scrape 
together the necessary cash was permitted to open a store of 
his own, or start a small factory, or hire laborers to till 
rented land. Foreign capitalists were invited to lease conces- 
sions, and native engineers were given contracts on a com- 
mission basis. All the go-getters who still remained in the 
land were once more allowed to man the pumps at the well 
of plenty. To be sure, they could no longer pump as they 
pleased. They had to confine themselves to the smallest 
spouts, and hand over most of what they got out of them. 
They were carefully watched and severely restrained and 
remorselessly taxed. However, they were permitted to retain 
at least a portion of the profit, and that seemed incentive 
enough. Despite that the risks they ran were as great as the 
rewards were small, they pumped with all their might. Like 
the go-getters everywhere else in the world, their minds were 
filled primarily with horse-sense. To get them going they had 
to be shown a bag of oats. 

Slowly the economy began to revive. Communism had 
brought it within an inch of rigor mortis. Now, after the 
merest whiff of capitalism, it was stirring again. 

The Bolsheviks heaved a sigh and then scowled. They 
were relieved, enormously relieved; yet at the same time they 
were sore. It made them sore to think that they had saved the 
Dictatorship of the Proletariat only by dint of yielding to 
the bourgeoisie. But there was one consolation: they had 
saved that Dictatorship. Now they could afford to wait 


awhile. They were still in power, so nothing was lost except 
perhaps pride. And what was pride to good revolutionists? 
All that counted was principle, and in that direction the 
Bolsheviks felt they had not yielded an inch. For they still 
believed in communism, and they were still determined to 
make it work. 

Their initial effort, they told themselves, had been doomed 
from the start and not simply because they themselves had 
been over-zealous. That, they were convinced, was more an 
effect than a cause. They had failed primarily because they 
had been compelled to launch their experiment in the wrong 
country. Marx had looked for communism to come only after 
capitalism had gone to seed. But in Russia capitalism had 
never even properly sprouted. The Black Life had not reached 
that country until around 1890, and even then it had been 
unable to raise more than a few microscopic pocks on the 
map. The native bourgeoisie had had little chance to equip 
the realm with machines, and no chance at all to teach the 
masses how to run them. Without an abundance of machines 
and mechanics, there could not be an abundance of goods; 
and without an abundance of goods, what could be commu- 
nized except the lack of them ? 

Nor was that all. Fate had condemned the Bolsheviks to 
try their experiment not merely in one of the poorest places, 
but also at the very poorest time. The Tsar's war had left 
Russia bankrupt, and no sooner had Lenin tried to set up 
his receivership than the civil war had come along and wiped 
out most of the surviving assets. The shops had been looted, 
the granaries were bare, the transportation system was all 
but paralyzed, and the entire industrial plant lay in ruins. 
Had there been any gold left in the national treasury, fresh 
supplies might have been brought in from abroad. But there 
was no gold. Nor, in the circumstances, was there any chance 


of getting credit. The Bolshevists were left to raise their 
country by its boot-straps and it had no boots. Was it any 
wonder that they failed? 

But that did not mean they were through. On the contrary,, 
they felt they had barely started. The next step was to im- 
port aid, and that meant they must export trouble. They 
must spread communism abroad, for thus alone could they 
hope to establish it at home. The whole world must be revo- 

This, of course, had been their dream from the start. The 
very day Lenin arrived in Petrograd in the spring of 1917 
he had cried: "Soldiers, Sailors, Workers . . . already we 
see the dawn of the world revolution!" And from that day 
forth he and his comrades had tried to claw at the clouds 
which persisted in obscuring that dawn. 

During the first two years they had had to confine their 
clawing to the sky over Russia, but after that, as much out 
of desperation as desire, they dared to extend their reach. 
In March, 1919, they invited sympathizers to come to Mos- 
cow from the four corners of the earth and organize a "Com- 
munist International." This, it was announced, would be the 
"general staff of the world revolution," and its first task 
would be the creation of communist parties in all the capi- 
talist lands. Each of these parties would be expected to per- 
form a twofold task: undermine the bourgeois government 
in its own country, and seek to protect the proletarian one 
in the Soviet Union. None save out-and-out revolutionists 
could become members, and the discipline among them would 
of course be absolute. The rank-and-file comrades would have 
to obey the leaders of their local "cells" ; these in turn would 
have to obey the leaders at the national headquarters ; these 
in further turn would have to obey the men in control of the 
"Comintern" at Moscow. And thus, from China to Chile, 


from Iceland to Tasmania, there would be one resolute effort 
to hasten the Red Dawn. 

The whole conception was typically Bolshevik in its vast- 
ness and bravado, and when it was made public it created 
terrible alarm all over the earth. Protestants swore that this 
Comintern was more sinister even than the Order of Jesuits, 
and Catholics branded it a double-damned Freemasonry. Re- 
sponsible statesmen like the Right Honorable Winston 
Churchill made the welkin crackle with their denunciations of 
"a poisoned Russia, an infected Russia, a plague-bearing 
Russia." The boast Karl Marx had uttered in 1848 had come 
true with a vengeance : the "specter of communism" had be- 
gun to haunt not alone Europe, but all the world. 

And the Bolsheviks were elated. The greater the scare they 
could throw into the capitalists, the more publicity they got 
for themselves. And they believed in publicity. Once the "New 
Economic Policy" began to yield revenues, the heads of the 
Comintern actually took money from the Soviet Treasury to 
buy publicity. They subsidized communist newspapers in all 
the leading capitals, and created a world-wide network of 
distributing centers for their literature and films. They or- 
ganized strikes in the industrialized lands and fomented sedi- 
tion in the colonial regions. Wherever there was a break in 
the social tissue they wormed their way in and planted bacilli 
of mutiny. For their only hope now lay in more revolution. 
They felt that one-sixth of the planet did not provide scope 
enough for their experiment, especially when it was so back- 
ward and ravaged a sixth. If Bolshevism was to succeed, it 
would have to spread. Farther and farther it would have to 

Otherwise Bolshevism seemed doomed. 


UT Bolshevism did not spread. De- 
spite all the efforts of the Commu- 
nist International, no other coun- 
try would go the way of Russia. 
Many revolutions followed in the 
wake of the War, but few of them 
were directed hy Moscow, and 
those few were all ill-fated. The 
Hohenzollern Empire collapsed, 
the Hapsburg Empire flew to pieces, the Turkish Empire 

sank out of sight. The rulers of virtually all the defeated 



countries were pushed from their thrones and sent packing. 
But though their successors did not dare assume crowns, 
neither would they stoop to wearing caps. They preferred to 
put on silk hats. 

That was symbolic. Those successors did not want to be 
taken for proletarians. They had resorted to revolution only 
in order to establish better bourgeois governments. There- 
fore they insisted on dressing like proper bourgeois gentle- 
men. Their idol was not Lenin but was a man named Wilson. 

Mr. Woodrow Wilson was the most powerful man on earth 
when the War came to an end. He was that not alone be- 
cause he was the head of the world's richest nation, but even 
more because he had made himself the oracle of the world's 
most ardent hope. He was a tall lean man with a long lean 
face that seemed to break in two when he smiled. He was a 
great idealist, a great humanitarian, a great liberal, and a 
great talker. He believed in God, Truth, Justice, Free Trade, 
Democracy, Peace, Prayer, and his own conscience." He came 
of a long line of Presbyterian ministers. 

At the outset of the War he had done all in his power to 
keep his country neutral. "We are too proud to fight," he 
had proclaimed. Even after the conflict had entered its third 
year he had still insisted that "the objects which the states- 
men ... on both sides have in mind are virtually the same." 
But then, having meanwhile been reelected to the Presidency, 
he suddenly reversed his stand. 

The reasons are not too obscure. One was the pressure of 
popular sentiment. Native sympathy coupled with foreign 
propaganda had at last persuaded the majority of Ameri- 
cans that the Allies deserved to win. Another was the pres- 
sure of national interest. Germany was a brashly aggres- 
sive power, and there were good grounds for fear that if she 
triumphed in the Old World, she would soon be reaching 


toward the New. A third reason was the pressure of financial 
anxiety. American industry had supplied the Allies with enor- 
mous stores of munitions on credit. Finally, and perhaps 
most potent of all, there was the pressure of Mr. Wilson's 
sense of personal consecration. He felt it was his bounden 
duty to bring about a "just" peace, and he belatedly realized 
that to fulfill this duty he would first have to decide the War. 

In effect he did decide it. Once America threw its enormous 
weight on one side, the other did not stand a chance. For 
America's weight was made up of more than sinew and fight- 
ing gear. It included a promise. Mr. Wilson had sensed that 
the swiftest way to end the War was to promise the people 
on the other side that they might really win if they surren- 
dered. Accordingly he had announced that, so far as his own 
country was concerned, this War was being fought not for 
loot, not for glory, but solely to establish a new order among 
the nations of the earth. This new order, he had gone on to 
particularize, would be one guaranteeing eternal peace and 
universal freedom, for it would proscribe all secret diplomacy, 
abridge all restraints on world traffic, reduce all armaments, 
emancipate all subject peoples, and unite all nations in one 
common fellowship. These principles, together with their 
corollaries, he had called the "Fourteen Points," and in the 
end they accomplished what ten times as many army divi- 
sions could not have done. On the strength of those "Four- 
teen Points 5 * the people on the other side did surrender. 

An armistice was signed, and then Mr. Wilson set sail for 
Europe to arrange the peace. Never in all history had any 
man been received there with as great acclaim. People wanted 
to kneel in his presence; they wept for joy wherever he ap- 
peared. He had become more than a mere man to them: he 
was the Messiah. Did he not bring assurance that a New Day 
was about to dawn? Millions of people on both sides had en- 


dared the War solely in the hope that peace would usher in 
a better world. Now, they told themselves. President Wilson 
would see to it that the hope was not betrayed. 

That was one reason why they refused to succumb to Bol- 
shevism. Mr. Wilson, they discovered, did not like Bolshevism. 
What he liked, and what he wanted his f ellowmen to like, was 
liberalism. The root of all evil, he insisted, lay in the realm 
of politics rather than economics. What the world needed, 
therefore, was merely more "democracy." If every govern- 
ment would become like his own, a government of the people, 
by the people, and for the people, then universal peace and 
freedom would ensue as a matter of course. He was convinced 
of that with a conviction as lofty as it was innocent. And a 
populace grown sick of war and oppression was only too 
ready to agree. 

But this readiness, it turned out, was due largely to a mis- 
apprehension. Most people in Europe, or at least those who 
spoke for most people, seemed to think that the beginning 
and end of liberalism was nationalism. They were obsessed 
with the belief that all would be well merely if each folk with 
an apparent identity of its own were given absolute sover- 
eignty in a country all its own. The War was in part to 
blame for that. The belligerent governments had done all in 
their power to exacerbate nationalistic pride and prejudice. 
They had done this not alone at home, in order to bolster 
the fighting morale of their own people, but also abroad, in 
the hope of wrecking that of the enemy. Each side had sent out 
agents to stir up the subject peoples behind the other's lines. 
Germany had promised national independence to the Finns 
and Letts and Poles if they would revolt against the Tsar. 
Britain had sworn to heap all sorts of glories on Arab sheikhs 
if they would rise up against the Turks. Every oppressed 
folk was encouraged to believe it would become free and sov- 


ereign if only it would turn on its current oppressors. Even 
the Jews were offered that bait. 

So when the War was over, the world was left one mass of 
nationalistic rashes. What might otherwise have been a mild 
affliction, like acne in adolescence, had been aggravated into 
a disfiguring plague. For let us be clear on one point: na- 
tionalism would have spread even without the War. It was 
one of the inescapable consequences of the spread of machin- 
ery. Let us be clear also on a second point : this consequence 
had definite social value. Nationalism spelled progress. It 
blasted the shells of provincial clannishness, and set men free 
to acquire broader loyalties. It forced sullen tribes to merge y 
and encouraged subject races to rebel. All of which was good, 
for it engendered growth. 

But the War over stimulated the growth, and in doing so, 
made it poisonous. It led people to believe that their new 
horizons must necessarily be frontiers, and that the love they 
felt for the folk inside them could be measured only by the 
hate they bore toward all who belonged outside. It taught 
people to equate cultural freedom with political sovereignty, 
and national independence with the right to have an army 
and a diplomatic corps. Though it educated many backward 
races, it left them unenlightened; though it quickened their 
minds, it also envenomed their hearts. 

Mr. Wilson found that out before long, and the revelation 
caused him much grief. In principle he had no objection to 
nationalism. On the contrary, he considered it an essential 
element in the new world order which he had planned. No 
fewer than eight of his "Fourteen Points" dwelt on what he 
called the "self-determination of nations." And all went well 
so long as he continued to make speeches, for the "self-deter- 
mination of nations" was a fine mouth-filling phrase. Once he 
had to get down to business, however, he swiftly discovered 


that the phrase was hard to digest. The more he chewed it, 
the more it kept regurgitating. For just what was a nation? 
Moreover, just how was it to determine itself? 

Many answers were forthcoming, but no two of them quite 
jibed. Whole throngs of theatrical-looking personages, some 
in rented frock-coats, some in turbans and robes, queued up 
in front of his office to tell him the "facts." They piled his 
desk high with books, maps, and handsomely embossed reso- 
lutions proving that the Armenians were a nation, and also 
the Croatians, the Assyrians, the Moldavians, and the Bes- 
sarabians. Apparently the Wends too were a nation, and the 
Livs, the Letts, the Kurds, the Esths, the Jews, the Basques, 
and of course the Irish. One delegate arrived from the Pontus 
on the Euxine Sea with a documented plea for the restoration 
of the kingdom of Mithradates the Great, which had been 
destroyed in 47 B.C. ... 

To have accepted all these claims would have meant carv- 
ing the map of the Old World into a jig-saw puzzle. The 
claims were too numerous, and also too conflicting. The vari- 
ous nationalities did not merely crowd each other ; they over- 
lapped. Ruthenians lived in the midst of Poles, Poles in the 
midst of Czechs, Czechs in the midst of Hungarians, Hun- 
garians in the midst of Rumanians, and Jews in the midst 
of all. It was obvious that complete national self -determina- 
tion could be achieved only through international exter- 

In these circumstances there was but one way out for Mr. 
Wilson. He had to compromise. Even had his task been less 
impossible, he would still have had to compromise. After all, 
he was not the sole arbiter of the peace. A certain Mr. David 
Lloyd George had some say in the matter, and^o did an 
even more certain M. Georges Clemenceau. Btewefen those two 
gentlemen, one as smart as a fox and the other as fierce as a 


tiger, the American could do little save play the mule. They 
were infinitely wilier men than he, and unencumbered with his 
fine visions. They had no thought of trying to set the world 
to rights. All they wanted was to buttress certain imperial 
wrongs. Lloyd George wanted to preserve Britain from ever 
again being challenged on the sea, and Clemenceau wanted 
to do the same for France on land. So they went to work on 
t^eir stubbornly righteous colleague and bluffed, huffed, blan- 
dished, and bargained till they got him around to what they 
called "reason." After that it was the old, old story of the 
voice being the voice of Jacob while the hands were the hands 
of Esau. Mr. Wilson talked on and on about how the map 
ought to be redrawn, and meanwhile those other gentlemen 
redrew it. 

They redrew it badly. Though many changes were made, 
and all at the expense of the defeated nations, none seemed to 
satisfy even the victors. The number of sovereign states in 
Europe was increased from twenty-six to thirty-five, but that 
merely meant seven thousand extra miles of frontier to 
stumble over and fight about. The new boundaries were in- 
tended to serve political expediency, so they failed to con- 
form even to racial demands. The sovereign state of Poland 
was allowed to include regions inhabited primarily by Ukrai- 
nians, Lithuanians, or Jews. Czechoslovakia was made to 
include compact minorities of Germans, Hungarians, and 
other volubly non-Slavic folk. To make matters worse, eco- 
nomic needs were almost entirely ignored. An industrial cen- 
ter would be left on one side of a frontier, and its agricultural 
hinterland on the other. Here would be the iron-mines, and 
over there the coal-beds. Moreover, the lines running between 
them would be no mere marks on the map. They would be a 
solid chain of forts, custom sheds, and passport offices. 

So there was trouble. The new pots of political sovereignty 



began to seethe and boil over with, nationalistic rivalries* 
Greece invaded Turkey. Rumanian, Czech, and Yugoslav 
armies looted Hungary. Poland seized Wilno from Lithu- 
ania, and Lithuania seized Memel from Germany. Italy tried 
to take Fiume from Yugoslavia, and Yugoslavia did take 
Montenegro from Montenegro. Everywhere there was con- 
tention over boundaries, everywhere agitation against minor- 
ities, ju. 


. . . 7,000 extra miles of frontier. 

This, however, had one supposedly redeeming feature. It 
kept the people so excited about nationalism that they had 
no chance to succumb to communism. Take the Poles for ex- 
ample. Had the masses among them not been distracted by 
patriotic passions, they would almost certainly have emu- 


lated their neighbors to the east. They were equally poor and 
downtrodden, and no less hungry to vent their spite. But 
instead of venting it on the real wolf in their midst., they 
vented it on scapegoats. They raged because Jews were too 
active in the cities, and fumed because Ukrainians were too 
numerous in certain rural parts. They swore at the Czechs 
for "stealing" half of the Teschen area, and glared daggers 
at the Lithuanians for having dared to "usurp" the city of 
Wilno. It made no difference that the Jews had helped create 
those cities, that the Ukrainians had first tilled those fields, 
that Teschen was at least half Czech, that Wilno was almost 
all Lithuanian. Nothing seemed to make any difference ex- 
cept the accident of racial, cultural, or national different- 

Such blindness was as menacing as it was perverse. Never- 
theless it persisted. Why? For at least three reasons. First 
of all, the masses apparently preferred to be blind. The 
longer they could keep their eyes closed to baffling facts, the 
freer were they to revel in exciting fictions. Secondly, the 
leaders of the masses failed to recognize that it was a blind- 
ness. Most of those leaders came from poor but bourgeois 
homes, and they had been schooled to accept none save thor- 
oughly bourgeois ideals. And by now nothing was more bour- 
geois than nationalism. Thirdly, Great Britain and France 
deliberately fostered the blindness, for they seemed better 
able to get what they wanted if those from whom or through 
whom they took it could not see. """" 

So the blindness persisted. Even the Germans remained 
blind, and they were one people who should surely have learnt 
to see through nationalism by this time. If the War failed to 
open their eyes, the subsequent peace ought to- have done the 
job. Mr. Wilson had promised them that if they put down 
their arms, and put out their Kaiser, they would be given an 


equal voice with the victors in drawing up the final settle- 
ment. But no sooner did they comply with these demands than 
they found themselves treated like felons. For seven months 
they were kept on tenter-hooks before they were permitted 
even to show up officially at Versailles; and then, when the 
permission was finally granted, it was only to learn that the 
peace terms had already been settled. 

Old Clemenceau presided at that historic session, and the 
story of how he behaved was not soon forgotten in Germany. 
Leaning back in his chair, he raised stony eyes to the German 
delegates, and snapped: "Messieurs . . . the time has come 
when we must settle our accounts. You have asked for peace. 
We are ready to give you peace." Whereupon he handed 
them a 230-page document, and told them to sign within 
three weeks. 

Clemenceau had his gloves on at the time he almost never 
appeared without them but nevertheless his fingerprints 
were all over that document. So were Lloyd George's. Like 
the staunch patriots they were, they had done their duty well. 
Here were some of the stipulations set down in that docu- 
ment. First, Germany was to acknowledge full responsibility 
for starting the War, and for causing all the consequent loss 
and hardship. As partial penalty she was therefore com- 
manded to surrender 15% of all the arable land she owned 
in Europe, 10% of all her population there, 10% of her in- 
dustrial plants, 12% of her livestock, 20% of her coal re- 
serves, 50% of her lead, 60% of her iron ore, 70% of her 
zinc, and also "the skull of the Sultan Mkwawa which was 
removed from the Protectorate of German East Africa. 5 ' She 
was further ordered to hand over all her colonies, and virtu- 
ally all her investments and holdings in foreign lands. Her 
navy, formerly second only to Great Britain's, was to be 
completely wiped out, ajid her merchant marine reduced by 




7^/a, -n d 


. . . also the skull of the Sultan MJcwawfa. 

nine-tenths. Her army was to be hacked down to one-seventh 
the size of that of France, and her munition plants were to 
remain under Allied control. Finally she was ordered to pay 
five billion dollars in cash or commodities by May 1, 1921, 
and also sign a blank check for the still unestimated cost of 
repairing "all damage done to the civilian population of the 
Allied and Associated Powers and to their property." 

Such was the "Treaty of Versailles," and it well deserved 
the name. The word "treaty" is derived from the Latin 
tracto, meaning "drag violently," and rarely had it been 
employed with greater aptness. On June 28, 1919, five years 
to the day after a half -demented Balkan lad fired a pistol at 


Sarajevo, Germany was dragged violently to Versailles and 
made to sign. 

But did that teach the country a lesson? It did not. Of 
course, there were some Germans who got the point. There 
were some who saw that their nation had landed at Versailles 
primarily because it had started out from Potsdam. There 
were some who realized the utter insanity of nationalistic 
ambition in a world in which machinery commanded that all 
men be kin. But these were few, and without solid influence. 
The Kaiser may have fled, but his generals were still on hand 
and so was a certain one of his corporals. The govern- 
ment changed, the flag changed, even the style in moustaches 
changed ; but the outlook of the people remained in one sense 
the same. Now as ever, now indeed more than ever, their 
dearest slogan was "DeutscJdand iiber alles!" 

So here was still another thing that went wrong and this 
was perhaps the gravest thing of all. Nationalism swelled up 
poisonously and turned into rank chauvinism. This happened 
not alone in Germany, but throughout Europe, indeed 
throughout most of the world. People in any number of lands 
became persuaded that to be true patriots they must be jin- 
goes. They completely failed to realize that the progression 
from family to tribe to province to nation must go on till the 
scope of a man's loyalty encompassed all the earth. TJie na- 
tion ^seemed to them the culmination. What they should have 
recognized as a stage, they took to be a terminus. Instead of 
using nationalism as a thoroughfare, they made it a blind- 

To be sure, this did not happen universally. In many places 
there were leaders who could see what plague was spreading, 
and in at least one immense region a sharp effort was made, 
to root it out. That region was the Soviet Union. Lenin and 


his comrades were blind to many things, but never to the 
menace of chauvinism. Their domain contained at least a 
hundred and eighty different peoples who spoke almost a 
hundred and fifty different tongues. To fight the plague of 
clan bigotry was therefore utterly imperative. Those diverse 
groups had to be taught to live together in peace and work 
together in comity; otherwise there was no hope for com- 
munism. The Bolsheviks had known that all along. (One of 
them, a Georgian called Stalin, had written a thesis on the 
subject as early as 1912.) Furthermore, they had realized 
that coercion would never accomplish their aim. The Tsarists 
had used coercion, and it had brought them nothing but grief. 
The more they had labored to enforce uniformity on Rus- 
sia's subject peoples, the more passionately had these re- 
mained diverse. So the Bolsheviks had decided to try another 
method. Instead of seeking to crush diversity by force, they 
set out to undo it by dint of kindness. They granted each 
national group complete cultural autonomy, and actively en- 
couraged it to speak its own tongue, enjoy its own folkways, 
conduct its own schools, theaters, and even police courts. But 
and this was the big but no such group was permitted to 
have its own army, or its own foreign office, or its own do- 
mestic economy. All the soil and its resources, all the fac- 
tories and their products, had to belong to all the Soviet 
nationalities in common. Thus, it was hoped, none would find 
cause to envy another, and none would feel impelled to try 
to take away what another had. All groups would enjoy an 
equal right to live, and therefore none would be tempted to 
go out and kill. 

That was the Bolshevik scheme, and it was succeeding. 
Russians and Tartars, Cossacks and Jews, Armenians and 
Georgians and even Ukrainians were becoming neighborly. 
Just because all the Soviet nationalities were allowed to re- 


main different, most of them seemed increasingly inclined to 
merge. The Bolsheviks had apparently discovered a sure 
antitoxin for nationalism. It was comradeship. 

But this served only to make the Bolsheviks appear all the 
more monstrous to the outside world. The average citizen in 
the capitalist lands did not want to be cured of nationalism. 
It had somehow become part of his being, part of his very 
reason for being. Nationalism had become his religion. If that 
went, what was left for him to live for? 


HE World War had been fought 
for two different sets of reasons: 
real ones and good ones. The real 
reasons were concerned primarily 
with real-estate, and they did not 
come clearly to light until the 
terms of peace were announced. 
The good reasons, on the other 
hand, were given intense publicity 
from the very start, but once the conflict ended they inevi- 
tably dropped out of sight. These good reasons on the 



side of the Allies were voiced by Mr. Wilson, and they 
centered around two supremely noble aspirations : the world 
must be saved from belligerency, and the world must be made 
safe for democracy. Neither was even remotely realized. 

Belligerency suffered only a token defeat, and even that 
only for a moment. It is true that the chief defeated powers 
were stripped of their arms. It is true also that nearly all 
the victors and neutrals formed themselves into a "League 

:: 1913 vs. 1930 

of Nations" to prevent any further resort to arms. But 
both stratagems proved of small avail. The world merely 
demobilized ; it did not demilitarize. How could it when there 
were more sovereign states now than before the War, and 
therefore that much more room for rivalry and cause for 
conflict? Not until after 1924?, by which time some of the 
worst errors of the Treaty of Versailles had been partially 
corrected, did the caldron of hate in Europe show signs of 
beginning to cool. But it was a fleeting respite. The fires 
were merely banted, and that only because the governments 
seemed to need time to store up fresh fuel. By 1930 France 
had 3,000,000 men in her first-line reserve and another 


1,000,000 in her second line. In that year Italy had a re- 
serve of 2,500,000 ; Poland had 1,700,000 ; Czechoslovakia 
had 1,000,000. By 1935 the nations of the world were spend- 
ing nearly four times as much on armaments as in 1913. It 
was plain to see that the interlude of peace was being used 
solely to prepare for more war. 

And just as belligerency was not halted, so democracy 
was not furthered. It is true that the World War wiped out 
four imperial autocracies. It is true that the ensuing truce 
saw six new states emerge as republics, and also five old ones. 
It is true that by 1919 there was not a single monarch left 
in all Europe who dared claim to rule as had his ancestors 
by divine right. But it is equally true that, despite these 
marks of apparent progress, the political tone throughout 
the Old World actually retrogressed. 

The myth of the divine right of kings was torn down only 
to make way for a reality that was worse. That reality was 
the demonic might of thugs. It emerged first, as we have 
seen, in Russia. The Bolsheviks were precisely thugs, for like 
the Hindu fanatics who bore that name originally they 
tyrannized only out of a sense of righteousness. No matter 
how noble Lenin's ends may have been, many of the means 
that he employed were unspeakable. It may be argued that 
he was hardly to blame for that. He had learnt those means 
from the Tsarists, and was simply employing them more 
efficiently. Perhaps he even deserved a measure of praise, 
since he sincerely intended to abandon those means so soon 
as he had attained his ends. Neither he nor any other respon- 
sible Bolshevik regarded the Dictatorship of the Proletariat 
as more than a makeshift. They all hoped to establish com- 
plete democracy in the Soviet Union eventually. In their 
own view, indeed, that hope was already better than half- 


realized. The formula for complete democracy, they liked to 
argue, was comparable to that of water: two parts of the 
hydrogen of economic equality, to one of the oxygen of po- 
litical liberty. Well, they had already provided the first 
and that was more than any capitalist government had ever 
done. As for the second, they would provide that too as 
soon as it seemed safe. And this promise was more than a 
ruse. From all indications, the Bolsheviks really meant it. 
Moreover, had they themselves been less fallible, and the 
world around them less hostile, quite conceivably they might 
have carried it out. 

But it is vain to speculate on what might have happened. 
All we know is what did happen, and it amounted to this: 
the trend in the technique of government was thrown into 
reverse. Thus far the prevailing tendency in politics had 
been toward more and more freedom. Ever since at least the 
Eighteenth Century there had been increasing revolt against 
the ageless dogma that some people were fitted to rule and 
the rest must necessarily be ruled. Now that dogma reas- 
serted itself and not in the name of reaction, but revolu- 
tion. Lenin insisted that only those men and women who had 
proved themselves worthy of enrolment in his Communist 
Party could possibly know how the country ought to be 
run. Therefore they had not merely the right but the abso- 
lute obligation to assume absolute dictatorial powers. 

They did assume them. Moreover they managed to retain 
them. Ajid the lesson was not lost on the world. 

The War, it had been hoped, would make the whole world 
safe for democracy. Instead it made much of it ripe for tyr- 
anny. This was not evident at once. Most devotees of democ- 
racy were inclined to raise their brows when they first heard 
of the dictatorship in Russia. After all, they sighed, what 


else could one expect in so backward a country? But before 
long strange reports began to come out of Italy, and then 
the sighs turned to gasps. Was it possible . . . ? 

Yes, it was possible, all right. Proof? It actually happened. 
Italy, which had had a parliamentary government ever since 
its rebirth as a nation, had suddenly succumbed to a dic- 

This is how it came about. Of all the victors, none emerged 
from the War with less glory or loot than did Italy. Perhaps 
that was no more than just, since no country had gone into 
the War with less hoiior or passion. Nevertheless the adven- 
ture had cost Italy dearly fifteen billion lire and seven 
hundred thousand lives and when the time came for the 
spoils to be divided, she felt she deserved her promised share. 
She did not get it. 

That made her people sore. Their hearts were sore, and 
also their bellies. The country had been poor enough even 
before the War; now it was virtually bankrupt. Commerce 
and industry were at a standstill, and the cities were crowded 
with jobless men. Agriculture had been neglected, and now 
the peasants roamed the marshes for food. Before long the 
currency began to lose its value, and then the government 
lost all prestige. Italy seemed ready to sink into chaos. "The 
sheeted dead did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets." 

It was probably no more than a passing phase, but there 
were many in the land who would not wait to find out. 
Roughly these were of two kinds : dislocated workers looking 
for jobs, and demobilized soldiers spoiling for trouble. Had 
the two combined, Italy might possibly have gone the way of 
Russia. But they did not combine, so the country went a 
way all its own. 

That way became known as Fascism, and it was blazed by 
a tragi-comic character named Benito Mussolini. He was 


the son of a violent village Marxist, and had been born in 
1883, the year Karl Marx died. His childhood was bitter, 
and the taste remained with him throughout his life. As he 
himself wrote years later: 

"Poor, dreadfully poor was my home, poor and wretched my 
whole existence. Where could I learn tenderness? At school, in 
the cloister, in the world? Nowhere! Why then should people 
wonder that I am taciturn, secretive, harsh, and stern?*' 

He managed to pick up enough education to become a 
country school teacher, but his weakness for brawling and 
incendiary speech soon forced him into a career of vaga- 
bondage. For ten years he wandered about as a political 
agitator, eating regularly only when in jail. Finally, at the 
age of twenty-nine, he became the editor of a socialist news- 
paper in Milan. 

Comrade Mussolini was ill-informed but opinionated, un- 
sound but vehement, so he quickly attained wide fame as a 
radical journalist. He attacked capitalism, nationalism, im- 
perialism, monarchism, clericalism, and militarism with ex- 
emplary comprehensiveness and abuse. When the War broke 
out, he was all against Italy's going in. As late as Septem- 
ber 1, 1914, he waved his clenched fist at the "bourgeois 
war-mongers." Then, four days later, he suddenly joined 

When next seen he was editing a newspaper of his own. 
He had become an all-fustian jingo; so much so that when 
his country did finally enter the War, he was nearly one 
of the first to enlist. But a bout of stomach trouble fol- 
lowed by an accident in a rear trench forced him to accept 
an early discharge. "I take my place as a fighter in my 
newspaper office, 55 he then declared. 

The Armistice found him still clinging to that battle- 


ment, but with guns shooting straight into the void. Now the 
conflict raged within Italy, and he could not decide which 
side to join. First he thought the workers stood the better 
chance. They were launching strikes and riots throughout 
the land. In the industrial north they were actually seizing 
the factories, and in the agricultural south they were de- 
manding division of the great estates. But, perhaps because 
the masses had no Lenin to lead them, their assault soon 
bogged down; whereupon Mussolini's mind became clear. 
("I am like the beasts," he once said of himself. "I smell the 
weather before it changes.") He sensed that the people on 
top and the people on the bottom were deadlocked. The issue 
therefore lay with the people in the middle. These were the 
small businessmen, the salaried managers, the minor pro- 
fessional people, the white-collar workers, and the farmers 
who still owned a little land: what Marx had called the 
"petty bourgeoisie." That class had long cherished a will to 
power, but had not known how to assert it. Mussolini de- 
cided to show the way. 

He already had a small following of patriotic young 
roustabouts who hawked his sheet on street-corners and in 
cafs. To these he now added fresh recruits from among the 
demobilized soldiers, dressed them all in formidable-looking 
black shirts, and organized them into fasci, "bunches." He 
gave them an ancient insignia consisting of a bundle of rods 
tied around a battle-axe, and ordered them to salute with 
outstretched arm as in ancient Rome. Then he turned them 
loose to slug the "red workers" and curse the "war prof- 

The government lacked not alone the might but also the 
will to intervene, and this encouraged the **bunches" to grow 
increasingly violent. Finally, in October, 1922, Mussolini 
ordered them to march on Rome and demand political recog- 


nition. He himself, though their Duce ("leader"), remained 
behind. He barricaded himself in his newspaper office in 
Milan, and directed the "offensive" by telephone. Not until 
word reached him that all was safe did he himself start to 
march by Pullman car. 

The next morning, clad in his black shirt, he presented 
himself before the King. "I beg your Majesty to forgive me 
for appearing in uniform," he puffed. "I have just come from 
a bloodless battle which had to be fought." The King, a 
bewildered little man, gave a bewildered little smile, and for- 
mally appointed Mussolini his Prime Minister, 

In 1912, Comrade Mussolini had written: "Imagine an 
Italy in which thirty-six millions should all think the same 
. . and you would have a kingdom of utter imbecility." Ten 
years had elapsed since then, and his mind had apparently 
changed. What he had once considered imbecility, now im- 
pressed him as the only sanity. 

His first objective was to imitate Lenin, and set himself 
up as absolute dictator. This proved not over-difficult, since 
he too had a pack of henchmen sworn to do his bidding. The 
Fascists in Italy, like the Bolsheviks in Russia, formed no 
more than a tiny minority of the population ; but they were 
hand-picked, disciplined, and determined. In addition, they 
had the guns right from the start they had infiltrated 
into the army so they were irresistible. Officially and other- 
wise the Fascist Party became the "Black Guard** of the 

Mussolini took over completely. He smashed the trade 
unions and thus routed his former comrades, the "Marxian" 
socialists. He outlawed Freemasonry, and thus closed a vital 
channel through which tjjie "Liberal" capitalists had been ac- 
customed to wielding influence. He ordered the priests to stay 


out of politics, and thus spiked any chance of effective oppo- 
sition by the Church. He made Fascist house-organs of all 
the newspapers, personal mouth-organs of all broadcasting 
stations, turned Parliament into a sounding-board, and the 
King into a ventriloquist's dummy. He set out to regiment 
public speech, private trade, personal habits, and communal 
traits. Whoever dared protest was clubbed, jailed, banished, 
or murdered. "To remove rebels from circulation," said 
Mussolini, "is merely national prophylactics." In this, as in 
so much else, he was still imitating Lenin. "There are those, 55 
Mussolini thundered, "who must be crushed by the truth 
before they can understand it. 55 

The Duce's "truth," however, was quite unlike that of the 
Bolshevik leader. He was not interested in creating a new 
world, but in reviving an old country. He yearned to turn 
the clock back and restore the Roman Empire. 

But such a miracle could not be accomplished by force 
alone. Suasion was necessary. Accordingly Mussolini re- 
sorted to the tactics of the ancient Roman demagogues, and 
set out to give the rabble "bread and circuses. 55 

He found it easy to provide the circuses. He was a born 
actor, and knew just how to stage a show. He organized 
monster patriotic gatherings which he usually addressed 
from balconies, thus lending height to his chunky frame, and 
bringing out all the massiveness of his prognathous jaw. He 
caused his likeness usually set in a fierce scowl to be dis- 
played in shop-windows, pasted on hoardings, flashed on cin- 
ema screens, and hung in all public buildings. He ordered 
that the first spelling-lesson for children should be devoted 
to the text : "The Duce is always right. 55 He further ordered 
that all loyal citizens should swear allegiance by reciting 
this credo: 


I believe in the State, apart from which I can never attain full 

I believe in the Sacred Destiny of Italy, which is to exert the 
greatest spiritual influence on the world. 

I believe I must obey the Duce, for apart from obedience there 
is no well-being. 

He encouraged the young and the old to keep marching, 
singing, saluting, and obeying, and thus sought to make 
all life one round of joy. 

But the task of providing bread proved more difficult* 
Having seized power on the excuse that Italy must be saved 
from communism, he could hardly turn around and adopt 
the communist economy. At the same time he realized it was 
impossible to save the country by means of old-fashioned 
capitalism. He therefore improvised an economy of Ms own 
which, if neither fish nor fowl, was at least good red her- 
ring. He called it the "Corporative State," and its apparent 
intent was to distract capital as well as labor by diverting 
both from their own wants to those of the nation. The rich 
were allowed to keep their property, but with, the stipulation 
that the nation had first claim on the profit. The poor were 
expected to keep their place, but on the understanding that 
the nation would raise it to glory. As for the in-between 
people, these were going to run the nation. Italy's govern- 
ment was to be a Dictatorship of the Salariat. 

Here was something new under the sun. Thus far it had 
been taken for granted that the bourgeoisie could be over- 
thrown only to raise the proletariat to power. Conservatives 
and radicals alike had believed that a modern economy must 
necessarily be either capitalistic or socialistic. Now a third 
possibility had emerged : a nationalistic economy. What that 
foreboded, Mussolini himself did not know yet. He was es- 


sentially a careerist, and worried more about the how of his 
going than the where. Having flung himself on the bosom 
of Fame, his fiercest concern was to hang on. 

And this which was true of Mussolini, was equally true of 
his imitators. For he acquired many imitators before long. 
In one country after another wilful men set themselves up 
as dictators : Kemal Pasha in Turkey, Horthy in Hungary, 
Primo de Rivera in Spain, Pilsudsld in Poland, Smetona in 
Lithuania. . , . And not any of these little Caesars knew 
where they were going. They were just going. 

And more and more of the world went with them. 




OLITICALLY the world had be- 
gun to retrogress. There were 
more frontiers now to divide man- 
kind, and behind most of them 
there was less freedom, less inde- 
pendence, less understanding. In 
one country after another men 
seemed deliberately bent on turn- 
ing back the clock of civilization. 
As yet, however, all they moved was the hands. They had 

not thought yet to reach behind the dial to stop the 



works. Therefore, though the world retrogressed politically, 
it still continued to forge ahead industrially. The War had 
wound up the springs of production, and enormously en- 
larged the wheels. The ravening demand for more and still 
more armaments had forced all the advanced countries to 
expand their factories to the limit. Even then they had not 
been able to produce enough, so they had had to recruit the 
help of the backward ones. Spain was induced to open up 
her mines. Egypt and India were encouraged to build mod- 
ern mills. Giant processing plants were started in Malaya, 
Bolivia, Alaska, and Manchuria. Industrialism exploded and 
littered the entire globe with machinery. 

And this machinery continued to function after the War 
ended. It even expanded then, for that was the way of ma- 
chinery, always to feed on its own growth. By 1928 Japan 
was producing five times as much cotton print as in 1914, 
six times as much steel, and seven times as many woolen 
goods. China had 3,500,000 textile spindles by 1930, and 
India nearly 8,500,000. The industrial population of South 
Africa more than tripled. Palestine, where production had 
formerly been confined almost entirely to religious relics, 
suddenly developed into a land flowing with orange juice 
and potash. 

That was good. Not perfect, certainly, but at any rate 
good. Immediately it might cause severe affliction, robbing 
the old industrial countries of their established markets, 
and blighting many former agrarian ones with the Black 
Life. Immediately it might and did provoke vast dislo- 
cation and distress. But ultimately it gave promise of bring- 
ing plenty to regions which in the past had never known 
anything but want. That was indisputably good. 

And another thing happened now which was even better. 
Industrialism did not merely expand ; it immensely improved. 


Its whole character matured, and so prodigiously that ob- 
servers began to say a "third" Industrial Revolution had 
got under way. The first had been ushered in by the clatter- 
Ing steam-engine, the second by the spluttering electric- 
battery, and now the purring dynamo was heading the 

All the established sources of energy water, wind, fire, 
and lightning were being harnessed with a new effective- 
ness. Hydro-electric plants were being erected which could 
feed power to motors hundreds of miles away. Single tur- 
bines were built that were capable of yielding as much energy 
as three million men straining with all their might. The gaso- 
line engine was brought to a new stage of perfection, and so 
was the oil-burning Diesel engine. An accounting made in 
1930 revealed that every human being on earth had been 
invested with the power of four hundred slaves. 

Yet even more striking 1 than this increment of physical 
energy was the accession of mechanical efficiency. The dream 
of many an early inventor became realized at last : machines 
appeared that worked almost automatically. Human beings 
needed merely to press buttons, and steel forged itself, dough 
turned into bread, ships steered precise courses, cows gave 
their milk, and eggs nestled tenderly in crates. Raw wool fed 
into one end of a machine was washed by it, combed, fluffed, 
spun into yarn, dyed, woven into cloth, cut into lengths, 
rolled into bolts, wrapped, labelled, and stacked ready for 
shipment. Raw tobacco was similarly metamorphosed into 
packaged cigarettes, and ambiguous foodstuffs into canned 
soup or bottled sandwich-spread. 

Any number of once complicated, arduous, and monoto- 
nous tasks had somehow become magically swift and simple. 
Man was now removed by two degrees from the actual bur- 
dens of toil. In the beginning he had had to wield tools, and 


then he had had to tend machinery. Now motors and photo- 
electric cells did both. Moreover, the motors never wearied, 
nor did the "electric eyes" ever wander or blink. 

The processes of industry began to take on a new nature. 
They grew not merely more efficient than ever in the past ; 
they became hushed, clean, almost dreamlike. That was what 
helped to make them so much more efficient. The great tech- 
nicians had always known this, but the little industrialists 
had never believed them. The latter had imagined that clean- 
liness was a luxury, and silence a sign of impotence. James 
Watt tells us 

"I have once or twice trimmed the engine to end its stroke 

gently . . . but Mr. cannot sleep unless it seems quite 

furious. . . * Horrible noise serves to convey great ideas of power 
to the ignorant, who seem to be no more taken with modest merit 
in an engine than in a man/* 

But now the ignorant were no longer in command of in- 
dustry. Though they might still claim to own the machines, 
they had long since ceased to run them. That task had been 
taken over by salaried experts, and these were in a position 
at last to enforce their own standards. The one thing they 
most abominated was waste, any kind of waste waste mo- 
tion, waste noise, waste smoke, waste space. See, for exam- 
ple, what feats of thrift they performed in connection with 
refuse. They gathered up the cottonseed which had formerly 
been thrown away at the gin, and used it to produce felt, 
rope, flour, lard, writing paper, salad oil, fertilizer, face 
cream, roofing tar, laxatives, and nitroglycerin. They took 
the maize that had once been thrown to the hogs and turned 
it into oil, soap, glue, laundry starch, breakfast food, tan- 
ner's sugar, and again! nitroglycerin. 

All that was good to a degree. Unhappily, however, the 


degree was insufficient. The improvement was too largely 
confined to the processes of industry rather than its pur- 
poses. The men who wrought the improvement were inter- 
ested solely in technology, not sociology. They were just as 
eager to increase the production of nitroglycerin as soap. 
A good plant, in their eyes, was merely one that worked well, 
regardless of whether it produced mustard plasters or mus- 
tard gas. They were scientists, they insisted, not world- 
savers. Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and 
earn their salaries. 

That was, of course, a tragic limitation, and it contrib- 
uted eventually to world disaster. The technologists were 
penny wise but pound foolish. Immediately, however, their 
penny-wisdom brought rich rewards. For one thing, it in- 
creased the supply of goods. For another, it decreased the 
blight of squalor. For a third, it created a new kind of love- 
liness. Boiler-rooms began to take on the air of cathedral 
naves ; machine-shops acquired the look of well-run labora- 
tories. In part that was because there was no longer any 
effort at prettification, no longer any passion for sticking 
iron posies and curlicues on machinery- Now the command- 
ing urge was to simplify, to let the Machine be itself, to let 
it fulfil its function without apology or pretense. The gain 
was twofold. Now the Machine was able to become a thing 
of beauty as well as a source of goods. 

Production billowed like smoke from a volcano, and the 
whole earth filled up with merchandise. This was due^not 
alone to the existence of more machines, but also to the 
presence of more people to tend them. Women had entered 
industry in unprecedented numbers ever since the War. In 
addition, thanks to the declining death-rate, a larger pro- 
portion of the population was adult. The world-production 
of coal and iron and silk almost doubled between 1910 and 


1930. Every other commodity from aluminum to zinc in- 
creased in abundance. Meat became more plentiful, fruit and 
vegetables more variegated. The yield of wheat leapt from 
3,250,000 bushels in 1910 to 4,500,000 In 1930. 

And what was true of raw-stuffs was truer still of manu- 
factured wares. Completely new products appeared on the 
market: synthetic fabrics, plastics, metals, lacquers, and 
dyes. At the same time familiar products acquired a novel 
charm and cheapness. Clothing increased in quality as well 
as quantity. Mass-production brought the styles of Paris 
within the means of typists and shoe-clerics* wives. Housing 
improved, and sanitary facilities began to flush the world. 
There was actually a beginning of slum clearance in several 
lands. The automobile became commonplace all over the 
globe, and also the tractor, the airplane, the telephone, the 
cinema, and finally the radio. Arabs began to cross the des- 
ert in air-conditioned busses, and Thibetans learnt to tune 
in Moscow on their crystal sets. Books multiplied, micro- 
scopes multiplied, vaccines, insecticides, spectacles, safety 
razors, tooth brushes, sewing machines, and refrigerators 
multiplied. Contraceptive aids, those supreme labor-saving 
devices, began to be produced so cheaply that they found a 
market even in China. 

At last the promise born with the Machine was being 
surely realized. Thus far the world had seen no more than 
the first faint glimmer of the Day of Plenty. 

Now the sun was out. 


HE sun was out, and it warmed 
one land especially the United 
States. The First World War had 
served it much as the Napoleonic 
Wars had once served Great Brit- 
ain. The Americans were able to 
turn the apple of discord into 
hard cider and go on a spree* 
Thus far they had always been on 
the receiving end in their commercial dealings with Europe 
and had had to pay for it at heavy interest. Now the tables 




. A. 

185*5 - 

were turned. Not America but Europe had to do the buying 
and borrowing ; and not Europe, but America, raked in the 
profits. Even before the United States came around to en- 
tering the War, it had already ceased to be a debtor nation. 
Eventually it became the world's record creditor. 

And it remained that. 
The country had not 
alone managed to collect 
the richest store of gold ; 
it had also succeeded in 
erecting t^e mightiest 
hive of industry. This 
gave it an unbeatable ad- 
vantage once a battle- 
battered Europe began to 
try to mend itself. The 
War Boom, after a sick- 
ening post-war slump, 
gave way to a peace boom. 
Europe needed food, Eu- 
rope needed clothing, Eu- 
rope needed machinery, 
Europe needed credit, 
America sold her food, 
America sold her cloth- 
ing, America sold her 
machinery, America gave 
her credit. 

That was how America's peace boom got under way on 
a gust of foreign trade. Once launched, however, it caught a 
domestic wind, and then it went higher than a kite. That 
wind was caused by many factors, but the chief was prob- 
ably the explosion of the automobile industry. A crotchety 





manufacturer whose name has already been mentioned, 
Henry Ford, got the notion that the surest way to profit by 
the "horseless carriage 55 was to mate it not bigger and 
fancier, but simpler and cheaper. As early as 1908 he de- 
cided to concentrate on a single model which could be assem- 
bled out of standard parts with a minimum amount of fum- 
bling and fitting. To speed up the process and speed was 
his abiding obsession he borrowed an idea from the Chi- 
cago meat-packers. They used an overhead trolley to swing 
the carcasses down a line of butchers, so he introduced a 
"conveyor belt" to carry the automobile parts to his me- 
chanics. That saved time, and time was money. By 1914 
Henry Ford was able to turn out 700 cars a day. Even then 
he was not satisfied. He kept improving and extending the 
assembly lines until by 1922 he was producing 4,000 cars 
a day, and by 1924 as many as 7,000. 

Other automobile makers began to imitate him. By 1929 
one firm in Milwaukee was turning out a complete chassis 
every eight seconds, fully 10,000 in a day. That year the 
total output of automobiles reached a peak of 5,000,000 

This alone would have been enough to create a surge of 
prosperity, for it stimulated production in a hundred aux- 
iliary industries: tin, rubber, petroleum, glass, timber, up- 
holstery, and first-aid kits. Roads had to be built, and also 
garages, gasoline stations, hot-dog stands, hotels, motels, 
and morgues. Mechanics had to be supplied with overalls, 
insurance agents with calling-cards, and traffic-cops with 
throat lozenges. 

Yet even greater than the direct effect of the automobile 
itself was the influence exerted by the way in which it was 
manufactured. Ford made America "mass-production con* 


scious." Every up-and-coming industrialist sought to stand- 
ardize his product, and turn it out on an assembly line. 
Every conceivable article from a pin to a locomotive began 
to be fabricated with the aid of conveyor belts. The United 
States began to wallow in something no country had ever 
achieved before: actual abundance. By 1929 it was able to 
boast nearly as many automobiles as families, almost as 
many telephones, twice as many daily newspapers, five times 
as many monthly magazines. There were enough shoe fac- 
tories to make seven pairs of shoes for every man, woman, 
and child in the land. The tobacco factories were actually 
producing 97,000,000,000 cigarettes a year. 

Americans had been proud of their productivity in 1914, 
for their industrial plant had been able to turn out twenty- 
three billion dollars' worth of merchandise that year. By 
1929 it was turning out more than three times as much. 

The merchandise was not all good, of course. On the con- 
trary, some of it was harmful, more was tawdry, and much 
was worthless. There were worms in many of the canned 
foods, toxins in most of the patent medicines. The cheaper 
furniture was held together by glue, and the cheaper textiles 
by starch. Most of the newspapers were full of lies, many of 
the magazines were full of filth, and almost all of the movies 
were full of imbecility. More often than not the shoes, 
pinched, the shirts shrank, the clothes shredded in a season, 
and the stockings tore in a day. 

Nevertheless they sold. The very shoddiness of such wares 
helped to make them sell. People were forced to keep buying 
because so little that they bought would last. And of course 
there were other compulsions. Advertising goaded people to 
want things, more and more things. Poets like Stephen Vin- 
cent Benet might lament that 


". . . when the last moon-shiner buys his radio, 
And the last, lost, wild-rabbit of a girl 
Is civilized with a mail-order dress, 
Something will pass that was American 
And all the movies will not bring it back." 

But those who had goods to sell were not interested in bring- 
ing anything back. Their one aim was to push everything 
forward. That was why they advertised. 

They persuaded people to replace not alone the articles 
that didn't last, but even those that could and did. This was 
not too difficult: the sellers merely extended the fashion- 
craze. No matter how durable an object might be, invari- 
ably a way was found to make it swiftly obsolete. An auto- 
mobile that would run at all had to be built stoutly enough 
to run for six or eight years. So the body-styles were changed 
annually. Any radio that would really work was likely to 
keep on working until even Amos 5 n* Andy ran out of breath. 
So the cabinets were built differently each season. 

A thousand stratagems were employed to stimulate peo- 
ple to buy, stratagems as old as Christmas and as new as 
Mother's Day. And people bought. 

Not that they had the cash. How could they have the cash 
when the bulk of them were workers? True, wages had gone 
up somewhat, especially in the mass-production industries. 
As early as 1914, Henry Ford had astounded the world by 
announcing that henceforth the least he would pay any of 
his employees was $5 a day. By 1926 he had raised the base- 
rate to $7. But the work was seasonal, and unless his em- 
ployees could find other jobs when he laid them off, their 
earnings barely averaged $150 a month. That, obviously, 
was not enough to provide cash for luxuries. It was not even 
enough for ordinary necessities. A government survey re- 


vealed that in 1929 a "standard" Ford worker's family was 
able to spend throughout the entire year 

$7.69 for amusements 
4.23 for laundry 
1.66 for literature 
1.08 for domestic help 
9.62 for religion 

Yet such a worker was receiving relatively high wages. 
The average industrial laborer did not earn more than $100 
a month during 1929, and the average white-collar worker 
only $117. In July of that year the best month the aver- 
age farm laborer earned barely $50, no board included. 
Between 1919 and 1927 all the farm families in the country 
had an average monthly income of $63 in cash. In 1929 fully 
a third of the entire population of the country was living 
on the level of bare subsistence. 

Nevertheless goods got sold. How? On credit. What had 
once been the prerogative of the rich became the privilege 
of the poorest of the poor now. Almost anybody could buy 
almost anything on the "installment plan. 9 * And almost 
everybody did. The idea of buying goods on the basis of "a 
dollar down and the rest when they catch you" proved irre- 
sistibly alluring. Consequently, although wages went up 
barely 12 % during the seven fat years beginning in 1922, 
purchasing power went up more than 22 %. People bought 
not alone houses on installments, but permanent waves, ob- 
stetrical operations, even funerals. It meant, of course, that 
they paid high prices, and steeped themselves deep in debt. 
But what did they care? "The Lord is my shepherd," they 
sang, "I should worry!" Or else they snickered: "Wouldn't 
it be funny if we could afford to live the way we do ?" 

And thus the land began to heave and rock with what was 
said to be prosperity. 


2.0 1 j- 



The effect, naturally, was soon felt abroad, especially in 
Europe. Even Germany, the stricken heart of Europe, 
started to pulse again with what some people took to be 
prosperity. And there too the secret of it all was credit. 

Germany was supposed to pay fabulous reparations for 
the damage she had done in "causing" the War. These sums 
were supposed to go to the Allies, who were then supposed to 
pass them on in payment 
of their debts to America. 
But how was Germany to 
provide the sums in the 
first place? The War had 
worn her out, and the 
peace had left her pros- 
trate. Between economic 
depletion, political dis- 
sension, and monetary 
inflation, she was reduced 
to complete bankruptcy. 
Obviously there was only 

one way to put her in a 

<2 i Lp lim *^r i i I I j^ 

position to hand out cash, I * """ "I I 

and that was to give her 
credit. So it was given. 

England, Holland, and 

Switzerland gave/ part, and the United States gave the rest. 
It was a case of /handouts-across-the-sea. Between 1924 and 
1928 Germany received some six billion marks in credit, and 
returned mark this! only five and a half billion in cash. 
Immediately,, therefore, she seemed to profit by the whole 

Immediately everybody seemed to profit. Germany got 
credit with which to renovate her factories, France and her 



satellites got cash with which to expand their factories, and 
the United States got encouragement at 6% to advance 
more credit. It was all mad, of course. What would happen 
once the process of renovation and expansion was complete, 
and production got into full swing? There would be no place 
to sell. The domestic markets would be glutted because the 
masses within each country would be too poor to buy. More- 
over, the foreign markets would be closed because most coun- 
tries had walled themselves in with tariff barriers. Eventu- 
ally, therefore, the borrowers would no longer be able to 
incur new debts, for they would be failing to pay the interest 
on their old ones. So then the chief lender, Uncle Sam, would 
have to turn into Uncle Shylock, and the whole crazy merry- 
go-round would inevitably collapse. Anyone with the wit and 
will to look ahead could see that that was as sure as ... 

But very few people had that much wit, and even fewer 
the will. Why worry about the future ? A good capitalist was 
supposed to let the future take care of itself. Sufficient unto 
the day was the profit thereof. 

So those in charge of the merry-go-round let it go faster 
and faster. More speed created not alone greater profit but 
also a stouter illusion of security. It increased the giddiness 
and thus lessened the temptation to try to think. Even 
those who were paid to think, the statesmen and economists, 
even they seemed reluctant to try. They preferred to go 
round and round with the world, and hope for the best. 

This was true in every capitalist land, but most of all, of 
course, in the United States. There the giddiness grew so in- 
tense that people actually began to think it normal. They 
began to say a "New Era" had arrived. Henceforth there 
could never again be unemployment, misery, or class-conflict. 


True, there were at least a million laborers still out of work 
in the country, two million families in distress, and never a 
day without strikes. But these were dismissed as passing phe- 
nomena. Between mass production, high wages, installment 
buying, and a sound Republican administration, this coun- 
try was definitely assured of more and more prosperity with 
each new day. 

Such things were not merely said; they were believed. 
Moreover* they were said and believed not merely by com- 
mon folk, but by the most noted in the land. Even Mr. Her- 
bert Hoover, already the Secretary of Commerce, and soon 
to be the President, solemnly declared, "The poorhouse is 
vanishing from among us." The idea that prosperity had 
been made permanent became a national dogma, and all 
right-thinking citizens felt it their duty to gamble on it. Of 
course, they did not call it gambling. They called it "invest- 
ing in the future." But by any other name, it was still gam- 
bling. Some people gambled in real estate, others in dreamy 
mining ventures, but most gambled in registered stocks and 
bonds. Wall Street became the National Shrine, and literally 
millions rushed to lay their offerings on its counters. 

The rich and the learned, the righteous and the worldly- 
wise, all began to worship the Golden Bull. Businessmen took 
to spending more time in brokers* offices than in their own 
factories or stores. Union officials grew to find the Dow- 
Jones averages more enthralling even than the baseball 
scores. Window-cleaners eavesdropped on financiers for ru- 
mors of "pools. " Chorus girls sacrificed what was left of 
their virtue for "inside tips." Shopkeepers, schoolteachers, 
parsons, and widowed mothers took their life-savings out of 
the bank to "play the market." People mortgaged their 
homes and borrowed on their insurance to get more and 
more money to buy "securities." They borrowed on the "se- 


curities" themselves, paying the brokers as much as 9% 
interest in order to be able to hold shares that had never paid 
even 6% dividends. 

For those people were not thinking of the dividends. Most 
of them did not expect to hold their shares long enough to 
get the dividends. They were buying for the rise. Stocks were 
going up. The "bulls' 5 had broken loose, and it looked as 
though one need merely grab a tail to get a free ride to 
Eldorado. Every day, every hour, every minute the stocks 
kept going up. Not all of them, of course, but most of them, 
or nearly most. Radio Corporation of America, after knock- 
ing about for years at a few dollars a share, leapt to $94 in 
1928, and $549 in 1929. 

That was the great year 1929. By then every significant 
index pointed to trouble. Ominous things were already hap- 
pening in Europe : unemployment was mounting, demagogues 
were running wild, and governments were finding it more and 
more difficult to meet their obligations. Even in America the 
ground was beginning to crack. Most of the billions that had 
gone into the stock-market had been used to create "capital 
goods" that is, to develop factories, mines, and other pro- 
ductive enterprises. Now that those enterprises were begin- 
ning to fulfil their purpose, the country was heaping up with 
"consumer goods." But where were the consumers ? Who was 
going to buy all the automobiles that crammed the ware- 
houses, all the skirts and shirts and shovels and shoes that 
piled up in the stores ? 

Purchasing power was not keeping up with production; 
not nearly. Wages had been rising barely 1%% a year, 
whereas the output of goods had been swelling at the rate of 
4% a year. To be sure, the wage-earners could buy on the 
installment plan but not indefinitely. It was all very well 
to let people get up to their necks in debt, but if they went 


deeper than that, they were no longer able to pay through 
the nose. That was why there was a necessary limit to con- 
sumer credit and the limit had already been reached. The 
proof of it was that merchandise already purchased on con- 
sumer credit was beginning increasingly to return. The buy- 
ers were failing to meet the monthly payments. 

That was a storm-warning, and some who recognized it 
knew enough to run to cover. They dumped their stocks and 
ducked into cellars made tight and snug with cash or gov- 
ernment bonds. But the few that behaved thus were subjected 
to general ridicule. They were called fools, old fogies, fel- 
lows without faith, fellows without vision, fellows too dumb 
to understand that a "New Era" had arrived. 

The storm-warnings multiplied. Unemployment kept in- 
creasing, and so did the case-loads of the charity organiza- 
tions. Merchants who still found time to look at their shelves 
began to notice that they were not emptying nearly fast 
enough. But did Wall Street take heed? It did not. The Re- 
publican Party had just been returned to office for the third 
successive term, and Wall Street knew that the Republican 
Party was the "Party of Prosperity/' Mr. Herbert Hoover 
had been elected the President, and Wall Street knew that 
Mr. Herbert Hoover was a millionaire and sound. So why 
worry ? 

Stocks continued to rise. All through the summer of 1929 
they continued to rise higher and higher. American Can rose 
to 160, to 170, to 181%. New York Central climbed to 250, 
yet went on climbing. General Electric hit 396. Too high, 
brother? Don't be silly! Look at Morgan he's still buying! 
Look at Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, Astor, Whitney they're 
all buying ! And they're on the inside ! They know! So buy, 
brother! Buy! 


Brother did buy, and sister too. Fish peddlers brought 
their smelly dollar bills to the brokers to buy "sump'n you 
tink good. Boss I" Waitresses pooled their dimes and rushed 
to the brokers to take a "flyer." Everybody bought, and 
stock quotations rose higher and higher. They rose higher 
. . . still higher . . . and yet still higher. 

And then 


HEN came the Deluge. Thunder 
pealed aU through September, 
1929, but the great wise men on 
Wall Street and even more the 
little wise guys on Main Street 
refused to take heed. The sudden 
and recurrent breaks in the stock 
market were dismissed as "techni- 
cal adjustments." There were fur- 
ther and sharper breaks in early October ; but still the specu- 
lators remained bullish. One of the high priests at the 



National Shrine, Mr. Charles E. Mitchell of the National 
City Bank, looked up from his altar and pontificated : "The 
American Markets generally are now in a healthy con- 

Instantly prices rallied but only to sag again the next 
week. On October 23 there was a break that carried some 
stocks down more than ninety points. Knees began to quake 
then, and faces grayed. The next morning a number of stocks 
could find no buyers at any price, and then even the high 
priests became alarmed. They had advanced more than six 
and a half billion dollars to the speculators. Should they call 
in those loans and start a panic? Or should they sit tight 
and risk bankruptcy? A conference was hastily summoned in 
the Holy of Holies the directors* room of J. P. Morgan & 
Company and throughout the land anxious hearts pounded 
louder than the tickers. Finally, at 1 : 15 P.M., word came of 
the decision. Mr. Richard Whitney, then floor-operator for 
the Morgan company later floor-sweeper in Sing Sing 
strode into the Exchange and bid for a block of U. S. Steel 
at twelve points above the current price. Salvation! Imme- 
diately stocks ceased to fall. Some even began to climb. 

Not for long, however. The public, reassured by the mir- 
acle on Black Thursday, started to buy again. But those 
who had worked the miracle began to sell. Quietly, gently, 
they eased themselves of their burdens. Four days this con- 
tinued, four fevered days during which all who were sup- 
posed to be in the know talked "long," and all who were 
behind the show sold "short." 

Then, on October 29, it happened. 

The storm finally broke, and it tore the bottom right out 
from under the market. The rush of selling orders jammed 
the tickers, choked the telephone wires, wrecked the teletype 
machines. Within half an hour of the opening of the Ex- 


change, more than a million shares had been dumped on the 
counters. By noon the volume of trading had passed the 
eight million mark. When the closing gong tolled the end of 
that stark raving day, nearly sixteen and a half million 
shares had changed hands. The National Shrine had become 
the Wailing Wall. 

The Big Bull Market had collapsed. The vaunted New 
Era was no more. What had happened so often before, had 
happened once again: having begun by losing their heads, 
the businessmen had ended by losing their shirts. And even 
their hides, this time. The Panic of 1837 had been bad, that 
of 1857 even worse, and in 1875 and 1893 others had come 
which had proved still worse. Yet all those four together did 
not equal the one that now befell the United States. The 
investment structure became a shambles. What had so long 
been called "securities," became mere paper flying before the 

At first all authoritative voices insisted on screaming that 
there was no cause for alarm. "Don't sell America short P* 
they screamed. The President naturally refrained from 
screaming; he spoke calmly, as became one in so august an 
office. But what Mr. Hoover said calmly might just as well 
have been screamed, for it was no less delusory, and no more 
effective. Time and again he cleared his throat, moistened his 
lips, and shakily asserted: "We have now passed the worst. 
. . . Prosperity is just around the corner." But where was 
the corner? 

The panic deepened and spread. During 1931 alone some 
2000 banks had to close their doors ; 28,000 business firms 
went bankrupt. That same year 39 % of the largest corpora- 
tions in the country lost money, and half of the major rail- 
roads went into receivership- 


And conditions grew even worse in 1932. 

People ceased to call it merely a panic ; it had become The 
Depression. A corner had been reached at last, but behind it 
lurked prostration. Goods would not move. No matter at 
what price they were offered, they would not move. 

By January, 1931, wheat was selling at the lowest price 
in two hundred and fifty years. Nevertheless, millions of 
poor people failed to eat more bread. By the end of that 
year the wholesale price of textiles was down 32%. Never- 
theless those millions failed to buy new clothes. It was not 
that they did not want such things. They wanted them so 
badly that they were ready to steal them. But they could not 
buy them. They had always lacked cash, and now the mer- 
chants would not give them credit. How could one give credit 
to people who had no jobs? 

For unemployment had increased appallingly. Even be- 
fore October, 1929, there were already some 2,000,000 jobless 
people in the country. A year later there were 4,000,000; 
two years later, 7,000,000; three years later, 13,000,000. 
The national economy went into a tailspin. More unemploy- 
ment meant less purchasing power, and therefore still less 
manufacturing, and therefore still more unemployment, and 
therefore . . . By the end of 1932 there were 35% fewer peo- 
ple at work in the factories than in 1929. To make matters 
worse, those who did have jobs were getting lower wages. 
Factory payrolls had fallen off by 54s%. To make matters 
still worse, agricultural income, which had been low even 
during the Boom, sank actually lower by some 57%. The net 
result was that common purchasing power was reduced by 
some thirty billion dollars approximately as much as the 
country had spent to fight the World War. 

That was why goods failed to move. The masses lacked the 
means to get at them. Millions had to spend all they could 


earn or beg merely to lay hold of enough food to keep flesh 
on their bones. If they had anything left over often even if 
they hadn't they helped themselves to liquor and tobacco. 
Of all the major industries, only liquor despite that it was 
illegal and tobacco seemed able to prosper. 

Evil days fell on the land, evil days and months and years* 
Breadlines formed in the cities, and foul squatter settle- 
ments "Hoovervilles," they were ironically called gath- 
ered like scabs over the city dumps. Dispossessed farmers 
sold their plows and mules, piled their families into old 
Fords, and started wandering in search of a place where 
there was food. A horde of ex-soldiers marched on Washing- 
ton and encamped there in shacks until driven off by fire and 
tear-gas. Skilled workers became hoboes ; bookkeepers be- 
came hoboes ; teachers, lawyers, even former bankers became 
hoboes. Boys just out of high school, and girls who dressed 
like boys, began to rove about in packs. Crime increased 
everywhere ; gangsterism broke all bounds. Evil days fell on 
the land. 

And it was even worse abroad. A good deal of the world 
had been living off American capital ever since the War. 
Eleven billion dollars had come pouring out of the United 
States between 1917 and 1924, and another three billion 
Idollars between 1924 and 1928. Most of the money had gone 
to Europe, where it had been used first to set the economy 
back on its feet, and then to keep it moving. Once this sup- 
port was withdrawn, only one thing could happen, 

Europe's economy collapsed. 

In a sense it was dragged down, for the Americans did not 
simply stop lending money to Europe; they began to de- 
mand that what had already been borrowed should be re- 
turned. They called in their short-term loans, and asked for 


the interest on the long-term ones. Moreover, they wanted 
payment in cash. They would not take goods. They already 
had more goods than they knew what to do with. They 
wanted gold. 

For a while they got gold. But after a year the supply 
began to give out in Central Europe, and then the situation 
grew critical. By May 1931 the chief bank in Vienna began 
to totter, and its collapse threatened to drag the entire na- 
tion into bankruptcy. The German banks, being heavily in- 
volved in Austria's economy, rushed to the rescue. This, 
however, left them so weakened that they in turn began to 
cave in. The British banks struggled to shore them up, only 
to weaken themselves in further turn. All Europe teetered 
on the brink of financial chaos. The whole world teetered 

At the last moment President Hoover took it on himself 
to propose a year's moratorium on international debts. Too 
late. In July every bank in Germany had to close its doors. 
In September Great Britain had to refuse to honor its notes 
in gold. By the end of 1931 fourteen other nations among 
them Sweden, Japan, Siam, Chile, Persia were off the gold 

Half the world had gone over the brink. 

The blame was laid, of course, at the door of the United 
States. Though this country had ceased to demand gold, it 
was still refusing to buy goods. Formerly it had been the 
world's largest customer for raw materials, and the second 
largest for manufactured wares. But now, with the domestic 
markets glutted, and the foreign ones choked, importation 
necessarily had to decline. By the end of 1931 the United 
States was importing less than a third as much as in 1928. 
That meant unemployment in the tin mines in Malaya, the 
silk mills in Japan, the rubber groves in Java, the coffee 


plantations in Brazil. It meant unemployment in the English 
woolen mills, the German dye works, the Czech glove f acto- 
ries, the Italian felt looms. By the summer of 1932 there 
were nearly 14,000,000 Europeans out of work. In Germany 
half the young men between the ages of 16 and 32 were 
without jobs. 

The horror spread from the cities to the villages. Once the 
urban masses began to pull in their belts, food began to fall 
in price. Debt-ridden farmers found that interest charges 
which they had once been able to meet with a hundred bushels 
of wheat could not be settled now with less than two hun- 
dred. That drove them still deeper into debt, forced them to 
sell their cattle, finally left them bare. The word mortgage 
began to recover its original meaning "death-grip." Peas- 
ants in China had to let their sons become bandits. In Japan 
they hired out their daughters, as whores. In the Balkans 
they took to wearing animal skins and eating rats. 

Despair stalked the earth. Men could not understand this 
evil that had befallen them. Had it been a famine, they 
would at least have seen a reason for their hunger. Had there 
been an earthquake, they would have known why they were 
shelterless. But food was rotting in the granaries and fields ; 
everywhere shops and dwellings stood empty. Yet millions 
throughout the world were begging for a crust to eat, mil- 
lions were sleeping under bridges or in the open fields. 

Something had gone wrong. Everybody knew now that 
something had gone very wrong. 


HE Depression spread like a creep- 
ing paralysis over every land on 
earth except one. That was the 
Soviet Union. Lenin had died and 
Trotsky was in exile, but the gov- 
ernment they had established was 
still in power there. It was domi- 
nated now by a man named Dzhu- 
gashvili, alias Stalin: a hulking, 
heavy-footed, hammer-fisted Georgian who had been a faith- 
ful Bolshevik conspirator from his youth. During all the 



years that Lenin had directed the movement from Geneva, 
Stalin had carried on underground at home. He had raised 
funds often with a gun to send to Lenin, and had dis- 
tributed the smuggled literature which those funds made pos- 
sible. When the Revolution finally came in 1917, he received 
his reward. He was made a member of Lenin's cabinet. 

Seven years later, when Lenin died, most people expected 
his mantle to fall on Trotsky. That is almost certainly what 
would have happened had the question been put to a general 
vote. But the decision rested with the Communist Party, not 
the people. It did not rest even with the whole Party, but 
merely with the head men; and among these Trotsky had 
many enemies. The chief of them was this Stalin, and he was 
as shrewd as he was implacable. He had all the gifts of a 
ward-boss, and he began to exercise them now on a conti- 
nental scale. By dint of playing on the fears and jealousies 
of the other commissars, he got them to kick Trotsky down 
and finally out. 

That happened in 1927, and led swiftly to the inaugura- 
tion of a new policy. Trotsky, like Lenin and most of the 
other leading Bolsheviks, had never ceased to believe that 
what had happened in Russia would soon have to happen 
elsewhere. Most of them had lived elsewhere during prolonged 
periods of exile, and no matter how far they had roamed, 
invariably they had run into revolutionists. Indeed, wrapped 
up as they were in the radical movement, they had rarely 
met any foreigners who were not revolutionists. From this 
they had naturally concluded that the whole world crawled 
with revolutionists, and that it waited only for a signal be- 
fore all of them started turning every country upside down. 

But Stalin believed otherwise. Only once in his life had he 
ever set foot outside the Russian Empire, and then it had 
been only to smuggle himself to Prague to attend a Party 


conclave. Being so ignorant of conditions abroad, he was 
less mistaken about them. Peasant that he was, he had a 
peasant's ingrained conviction that foreign lands and for- 
eign peoples must necessarily be completely unlike his own. 
And events had seemed to prove his conviction sound. 

Despite all the fierce work and fiercer talk of the Comin- 
tern, no other country had gone the way of Russia. Hungary 
had made a lurch in that direction in 1919, but only to be 
dragged right back. There had been a moment in 1923 when 
Germany almost lurched, and in 1926 when England was 
rumored to be almost on the point of lurching; but in both 
cases nothing had happened. Even China, after having sup- 
posedly sprawled over in 1925, somehow recoiled in 1927. 

Stalin could draw only one deduction from those facts : 
the capitalist world was not yet ready for revolution. And 
from that deduction he could draw only one corollary: if 
the revolutionary economy was ever to prevail, it would 
have to be worked out first within the Soviet Union alone. 
So that became his program now: "Socialism in one 
country !" 

After all, reasoned Stalin, the Soviet Union was certainly 
big enough a country. It comprised, according to common 
calculation, fully a sixth of the habitable globe. Its popu- 
lation was almost as vast as that of all North America, and 
its resources were said to be even vaster. True, the Soviet 
population was relatively backward, and the Soviet re- 
sources were largely buried. But surely there was a way to 
remedy that. 

At worst, according to Stalin, there was the familiar 
bourgeois way. But Marx, he believed, had long since ex- 
posed the folly of that way, and so had history, even though 
tardily. Wherever a government had encouraged laissez- 
faire, wherever it had "let *er go," there invariably the econ- 


omy had sooner or later come a cropper. The "bourgeois way 
did work, but not beyond a certain point and even up to 
that point only in a blind, muddled, and destructive fashion. 

Therefore Stalin was all for trying another way, the one 
that Marx had labelled "proletarian." Instead of relying on 
rampant individual enterprise, this insisted on employing 
only collective effort. Lenin had started out with that in 
mind in 1917, and though he had turned aside in 1921, he 
had never lost sight of his original intention. His New Eco- 
nomic Policy, with its grudging concessions to petty capi- 
talism, had been no more than an enforced detour. Now, six 
years later, Stalin felt it was time to return to the high road. 

Conditions in the Soviet Union were no longer so dire as 
they had been in 1921. The wreckage caused by the War 
and the Revolution had been partially repaired, and there 
was once more a little capital in the treasury. The New Eco- 
nomic Policy had laid its golden egg, so Stalin decided it 
was safe to liquidate that goose. All the country needed 
now, he believed, was a good big incubator to hatch out the 
egg and bring forth a new kind of gosling. 

And it was going to be a better kind. Stalin was still 
enough of a Bolshevik to be absolutely insistent on that. The 
same was true of all his henchmen. Nature, they insisted, 
would have to be taken in hand, and made to do what it was 
told. No more barnyard anarchy, no more loose cackling and 
looser enterprise. The Soviet economy would be made to 
grow as no economy had ever grown before. Why? Because 
every detail of the growth was going to be thought out in 
advance. And not the economy alone, but also the culture. 
All life in the Soviet Union was going to be made to ad- 
vance according to a Plan. 

It was a fantastic idea, yet it was undertaken most grimly. 
A commission of some seven hundred experts was appointed 


to draw up and execute what was called the PiatUetJca, the 
"Five-Year Plan" ; and by 1928 the schedules were all com- 
plete, the maps and charts all drawn. Within the next five 
years, it was proudly announced, the output of coal and oil 
was going to be doubled, that of iron trebled, that of elec- 
tricity quadrupled. The cost of production was going to be 
reduced by 33%, and the yield per man-hour increased by 
100%. Fifty-five million acres one fifth of all the peasant 
holdings were going to be collectivized and tilled with the 
latest mechanical equipment. Common schooling was going 
to be so increased that illiteracy would be practically wiped 
out, and enough scientific institutes were going to be estab- 
lished to train all the needed technicians. In five years the 
Soviet Union was going to "take and overtake" the capital- 
ist standard of living! 

Naturally, there would be a price to pay. In money-terms 
the program would cost the equivalent of almost thirty- 
three billion dollars. And who would provide this sum? The 
workers, of course. Each worker would have to subscribe at 
least a week's wages to a State Loan with which to prime the 
pump, and thenceforth all would have to pump as they had 
never pumped before. That, after all, was how capital was 
created in the bourgeois lands. The only difference was that 
there the workers, though they did all of the actual pump- 
ing, got little of the profit. Here, on the contrary, they were 
going to get every penny of it. 

Propaganda of that sort was hard to resist, especially 
when conducted as the Kremlin did conduct it. Every organ 
of publicity was in its hands, and all of them were made to 
blare the same tune unremittingly. Party orators were sent 
to harangue the workers in the factories, the peasants in the 
fields, the children in the schools. All the journalists were 
brought into the campaign; so were all the poets, all the 


novelists, all the actors on both stage and screen. The aver- 
age man could no more resist the clamor than he could a 
tidal wave. It bowled him over, and set him threshing about 
in a sea of foamy enthusiasm. 

There was some dissent, of course. In the fat grainlands 
of the Ukraine there was some very bitter dissent. Many of 
the abler, or luckier, or greedier peasants down there had 
waxed relatively rich under the New Economic Policy. These 
were naturally loath to give up their riches. They burned 
their crops and slaughtered their cattle rather than turn 
them over to the collectives. But that did them no good. If 
they were outspoken in their dissent they were shot or 
dragged away in chain-gangs. If they were merely sullen, 
they were driven into a corner of their lands and left to 
starve. That, to be sure, did not do the country much good 
either. Famine swept the grainlands, and the fetid breath of 
hunger returned to the cities. But it did at least crush the 

Yet terror was only a minor factor in the success of the 
campaign. The major one was true zeal. It may not have 
been spontaneous zeal, but once kindled it flamed hot and 
wild. Millions of workers subscribed not a week's pay to the 
State Loan, but a month's and even more. Tens of millions 
worked not alone harder, but longer and for no extra money. 
They exhausted themselves merely to win a badge, or to 
carry a flag, or to get their names on honor-rolls. Men and 
women joined "shock-brigades," and competed to see which 
team could accomplish most in the least time. Production- 
contests were voluntarily arranged between factories, be- 
tween farm groups, between railway lines, even between 
prison gangs. Work was made a form of sport, but with a 
touch of war desperation added, and also a touch of reli- 
gious frenzy. 


And prodigies were performed. The oil industry was well 
on its way to completing its five-year assignment at the end 
of two. Soon the automobile industry was almost equally 
ahead of schedule, and so was the farm-tool industry. The 
whole campaign advanced at such a pace that before long 
a demand arose for a new goal. More and more people began 
to urge that the Five-Year Plan be finished in four. Just 
who gave them that idea, they did not know, and the Krem- 
lin saw no reason to tell them. But once they did get it, they 
were given no chance to let it go. Wherever they turned they 
were confronted with the slogan: "The Five- Year Plan in 
Four!" It was in all the newspapers, on all the hoardings, 
over every public building, inside every factory hall. Peo- 
ple read it on the paper napkins in the restaurants, on the 
wooden benches in the parks, even on whitewashed walls of 
the latrines. 

The campaign succeeded. Fast as people had worked be- 
fore, now they worked even faster. Not better, of course. 
There was no time for that. Merely faster. Sweat poured 
from them as they toiled faster and faster. The miners 
sweated, the farmers sweated, the machinists, the clerks, and 
the bookkeepers sweated. All the rivers in Russia ran with 
sweat. And the Five- Year Plan was finished in four. 

True, it was finished very imperfectly. If some industries 
over-fulfilled their assignments, others did not even approach 
them. And all achieved their results by forgetting all about 
quality. The clothed and boots were abominably made out 
of the most abominable materials. The household wares were 
as flimsy and crude as any Great Britain had misbegotten 
in the first days of her own unplanned industrial surge. 
Many of the machines were faultily constructed, and even 
more were wrecked by faulty mechanics. Some of the new 
factories began to crumble even before the scaff olding around 


them could be removed. One o the largest, an automobile 
factory at Nizhni-Novgorod that had been expected to turn 
out 144,000 cars a year, had to be closed within three 
months of its much-celebrated opening. 

To make matters worse, not merely was quality over- 
looked, but quantity was overstated. Too-zealous bookkeep- 
ers had added where they should have subtracted, and mul- 
tiplied where they should have added. Every total had to be 
heavily discounted to allow for error or warm-hearted fraud. 

Nevertheless the achievement was stupendous. Nearly two- 
thirds of the agricultural land was collectivized and at least 
partially mechanized. School attendance was more than dou- 
bled, and illiteracy was about decimated. High up in the 
Urals a monster steel-plant was erected, and around it a 
brand-new town housing 180,000 people. Way down in Tur- 
kestan a former American I.W.W. had carried through the 
construction of a railway traversing 1,100 miles of desert 
and rock. A giant dam had been flung across the river 
Dnieper to provide a head of water for an electric plant gen- 
erating 900,000 horsepower. The gangrenous slums around 
the oil-wells at Baku had been supplanted by a garden, city 
on the heights, with clubs, schools, hospitals, an electric rail- 
way, and pure water piped from reservoirs ninety miles 
away. Stalingrad on the Volga was made a little Detroit, 
Magnitogorsk a potential Pittsburgh, Kharkov another 
Kansas City. The commissars began to boast that their 
country had made as much industrial progress in four years 
as any capitalist nation had achieved in forty. 

The idea of drawing a blueprint for economic growth had 
apparently worked. It had worked so well, or at least so 
spectacularly, that even before all the figures could be to- 
talled the Kremlin decided to launch a Second Five- Year 
Plan. This, it was announced, would plug the holes in the 


First, and round out the level of progress. More attention 
would be paid to quality in basic construction, and more to 
quantity in consumer goods. Prices would be reduced by 
40 % 9 real wages increased by 100%, and the trade turn- 
over multiplied by from 250% to 300%. The masses were 
going to be provided with more and better houses, more and 
faster trains, more and smoother roads. There were going 
to be neckties for the men, lipsticks for the women, foun- 
tain pens for the students, and rubber dolls for the tots. 
There was even going to be enough white bread ! 

And once more the masses fell to with a will. Once more 
they began to sweat as they labored, and grin through their 
sweat. They knew they were making progress. Every day 
now, every hour, life was improving under the Red Star. 
Goods were multiplying, and with them was coming good- 
ness. That at least was what those masses told themselves. 
The achieving of material abundance, they believed, would 
soon bring all sorts of spiritual abundance in its wake. Al- 
ready there was talk of how Stalin was preparing a new 
Constitution for the country, one guaranteeing complete 
freedom and civil liberty. That meant the Dictatorship was 
about to end, or at least about to begin to end. The Soviet 
Union was going to taste the joys of full democracy at last. 

So there was ample reason for the Soviet masses to grin 
as they sweated. They were making progress. 


LMOST everywhere else in the 
world there was cold despair, but 
in the Soviet Union people wal- 
lowed in hope. Everywhere else un- 
employment kept mounting, but in 
the Soviet Union there were more 
jobs than hands. Everywhere else 
the economy withered, but in the 
Soviet Union it appeared to be all 
buds and blooms. 
The contrast was so stark that people everywhere else be- 



gan to scratch their heads and wonder. Not all the people 
there did that, nor most, nor even relatively many. But 
these who did were usually the sort who could attract atten- 
tion, for they had heads that towered, and they knew how to 
wonder out loud. Most of them were mettlesome intellec- 
tuals, or militant workers, or active humanitarians, and they 
exercised an influence out of all proportion to their numbers. 
Some went to Russia to see for themselves what was happen- 
ing, and of these the most vocal came back with ecstatic re- 
ports. Said one of them, a famous American journalist and 
cynic named Lincoln Steff ens : "I have seen the Future, and 
it works !" And myriads who never went to Russia took such 
reports as gospel truth. They repeated them, expatiated on 
them, rhapsodized about them. Thus there was created a 
tremendous stir. 

The general attitude toward communism began to change 
somewhat in most capitalist lands. At first it had been one 
of horror, and then one of contempt. Now an increasing 
number of people started to accord the movement a grudg- 
ing admiration. Quite respectable people caught themselves 
worrying whether those crazy Bolsheviks might be right 
after all. Not in everything, of course. Not, for example, in 
their advocacy of violent revolution. There they were no 
better than criminals. Nor in their acceptance of political 
dictatorship. There they were just plain fools. But what 
about that idea of theirs about economic planning? That 
certainly seemed to be working. No matter how one dis- 
counted their figures and distrusted their tales, the fact re- 
mained that they had achieved a triumph. They had hoisted 
the half -dead Russian bear out of the dust, bound his 
wounds, cured his mange, put a gleam in his eye, and set him 
coasting on roller-skates. And all within half a decade. They 
had taken a region that had never caught up even with the 



Nineteenth Century, and in 
half a decade pushed it smack 
into the middle of the Twen- 
tieth. And all without any 
financial aid from abroad. 
That seemed nothing short of 
a miracle. Yet it wasn't really 
a miracle, for see how it had 
been accomplished. No prayer, 
no mumbo- jumbo. The com- 
munists had simply drawn a 
blueprint of what they wanted, 
and then had worked like hell 
to carry it out. 

More and more people in 
the capitalist lands began to 
argue thus. And more and 
more began to ask themselves 
a question. At first hesitantly, 
then almost with bravado, 
they began to ask themselves : 
If the communists can do a 
thing like that, why can't we? 

It was a blasphemous ques- 
tion in a way, blasphemous 
because it challenged the first 
principle of capitalism. Ac- 
cording to that principle, a 
plan was already in existence, 
a perfect one ordained by 
Nature. All respectable peo- 
ple had believed that for a 
hundred years or more. They 



the U.S.S.R. people grinned 
through their 


had universally taken it for granted that, thanks to the mys- 
lerious beneficence of some Inscrutable Force, if each man 
would only mind his own business, all men would prosper in 
the end. But now people were less sure of that. The Depres- 
sion had made them a lot less sure of that. All along they 
had let Nature take its course and look where it had landed 

That was why many people in the capitalist lands were 
ready now to indulge in blasphemy. Their faith in the capi- 
talist system had been shaken. All along that system had 
promised to bring prosperity, and until 1929 it had given 
proof that it might fulfil the promise. Had it not multiplied 
the machines that multiplied goods, and flooded the earth 
with plenty? Had it not humbled the feudal lordlings, and 
given the common folk a chance to rise? Of course it had ! By 
every gross standard it had improved life for the man in the 
street, and even for the man in the alley. That was why both 
had accepted capitalism, and had identified it with civiliza- 
tion and progress. But now? Now they were not so sure. 
Though they might still believe in that system, they had 
finally become convinced that it needed to be taken in hand. 

Their attitude might be likened to that of vassals toward 
a king who in his prime had been able to shower them with 
favors, and who for that reason had been forgiven all his 
sins. Though he had lied and cheated, though he had often 
been cruel and always been selfish, those vassals had been 
reluctant to complain. After all, was he not in his own ca- 
pricious way making them rich and powerful? Far from 
complaining, they had hailed him to the skies, and had[ 
howled down all who dared do otherwise. 

But that was in the past. Since then the monarch's sins 
had caught up with him. The excesses he had so long in- 
dulged in had begun to tell at last, and his prowess had sud- 


denly waned. Proof? Look at his condition right now. He 
was prostrate. He had fallen all of a heap in 1929, and had 
not stirred since then. True, he had broken down many times 
before. Once in about every ten years he had reeled and slid 
under the table. In the past, however, he had always snored 
when piled into bed. Now he was barely able to breathe. In 
the past he had always begun to stir after at most a few 
months. This time he was still in a stupor after three years. 
So the truth was out: His Majesty was no longer the man 
he used to be. 

What then was to be done ? Should he be dragged out and 
thrown to the dogs ? No, that was neither feasible nor poli- 
tic. The most powerful courtiers were still faithful to the 
old reprobate^ and these would fight hard in his defense. 
Besides, what guarantee was there that a new king would 
prove any better? For that matter, how was there to be any 
agreement as to who the new king should be? It was wiser, 
therefore, to do nothing drastic. It was wiser to try reform 
rather than revolution. First the sick ruler ought to be dosed 
with stimulants to bring him back to life. Then, once on his 
feet again, he ought to be told to behave. And made to be- 
have. A strict regimen ought to be imposed on him, and 
precautions taken to see that he kept it. Thus the invalid 
would not alone be restored to vigor ; he might even be made 
more vigorous than before. And then his vassals would be 
able to enjoy even greater beneficence at his hands. . . . 

That, in crude analogy, was how many people began to 
feel about capitalism. They did not want to destroy it. On 
the contrary, their one desire was to keep it from destroying 
itself. To do that, however, they felt they must rein it in a 

And this they began to do now. In Britain a coalition 
government proceeded to pass "Marketing Acts'* and other 


measures to take some of the spleen out of laissez-faire. In 
France a little later an avowedly socialist government be- 
gan to move in on the banks, and nationalize various indus- 
tries. In the Scandinavian countries flagrantly radical cabi- 
nets gave increasing support to the cooperative movement. 
In Spain a revolutionary government overthrew the mon- 
archy, and formally announced, "The Spanish State is a 
workers' Republic." And in the United States the old Demo- 
cratic Party set out to establish a "New Deal." 

Of all those developments, the last was the most portentous 
and impressive. It was directed by a handsome individual 
named Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who was at once a gen- 
tleman and a politician, a sportsman and a paralytic, a man 
who could keep his gaze on the stars and his ear to the 
ground. He had stupendous courage, energy, charm, and 
humor. In addition and this was decisive he had a most 
beautiful voice. The day he took office was perhaps the 
darkest in his country's history. All the banks had been 
closed to prevent a total collapse of the financial structure. 
Industry was threatened with strangulation, and commerce 
seemed on the point of death. Terror had closed over the 
entire land, for millions of citizens faced the prospect of 
losing every cent they had saved. It was a day so fearful 
that only a Titan could hope to save it. Luckily such a one 
was there. 

Franklin Delano Roosevelt was there, and when he raised 
his voice, the day was saved. For tens of millions could hear 
that voice they had their radios and there was assurance 
in it, clear, strong, ringing assurance that made every lis- 
tener's heart beat anew. Said he : 

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself nameless, un- 
reasoning, UB justified terror. . . . This great nation will endure as 
it has endured, will revive and will prosper. . . . The people of 


the United States have not failed ... [it is] the rulers of the ex- 
change of mankind's goods [who] have failed, through their own 
stubbornness and their own incompetence. , . . Their efforts have 
been cast in the pattern of an outworn tradition. . . . They have 
no wsion, and where there Is no vision the people perish." . . . 

That was talking. That was good, plain, knuckle-hard 
talking. And it was followed at once by just that kind of 
action. Months earlier Mr. Roosevelt had promised the peo- 
ple a "New Deal/ 3 and now he set out to give it to them. 
During those months a hand-picked group of young advis- 
ers his "brain trust/ 9 it was called had helped him draw 
up a plan of action. 

Four problems had to be solved at once. The first was un- 
employment, which had become a choking embolism in the 
blood-stream of the economy. There were perhaps 15,000,- 
000 people who were out of jobs, and most of them had to 
be staked until they could find jobs. The second problem 
was farm poverty, which had developed chronic ulcers in the 
economy's stomach. Agricultural prices were so low that 
crops were fetching less than they cost to raise. Some 30,- 
000,000 farm-folk were faced with foreclosure on their lands 
unless the government came at once to their aid. The third 
problem was industrial stagnation, which was fast crippling 
the economy's limbs. With so many workers unemployed, so 
many farmers out of funds, and most of the foreign markets 
closed, the owners of the machines were naturally refusing 
to produce more goods. And, most exigent of* all, there was 
finally the problem of the financial breakdown, for that 
threatened to paralyze the economy's entire nervous sys- 
tem. The banks had to be immediately rehabilitated, the 
stock exchanges had to be reformed, and the whole monetary 
structure had to be made over. 

A man less brave than President Roosevelt or more sapi- 




u, S. A. 

IfNt>U.>TRl Al- 

ent might have quailed before tasks so tremendous. But he 
sailed right into them with both fists flying. He set hundreds 
of thousands, eventually millions, of people to work draining 
swamps, building roads, painting murals, giving concerts, 
and carrying out a thousand other good or makeshift proj- 
ects. He extended loans to the debt-ridden farmers, and 
paid them subsidies in order to raise farm prices. He tried 

to end the chaos in busi- 
ness by setting up codes 
of "fair practice 5 * in 
commerce and industry. 
He buttressed the labor 
unions, nailed a floor un- 
der wages, hammered a 
ceiling over work-hours, 
and prohibited the em- 
ployment of children. He 
encouraged the cities to 
build model tenements, 
and inaugurated stupen- 
dous rural reclamation 
schemes. He patched up 
the banking system, built 
dykes to restrain stock 
speculation, reorganized 

the credit structure, and revalued the dollar. He castigated 
the "economic royalists," pleaded for the "forgotten man," 
inveighed against "horse-and-buggy" methods, and gave new 
luster to the "democratic way of life." He cajoled the Legis- 
lature, scared the Judiciary, moved the center of power from 
Wall Street to Washington, and restored the word "Presi- 
dency" to its original meaning namely, "front seat." He 
soaked the rich, he fed the poor, he challenged the mighty, 


he cheered the downtrodden. He connived and contrived and 
set the whole nation in a whirl. And in the end he managed 
to check the Depression. 

But that was all he managed to do. President Roosevelt 
never succeeded in achieving the general well-being which he 
had said would come with the New Deal. He failed even to 
restore the partial prosperity which had marked the late 
lamented New Era. In the circumstances, however, nothing 
else was to be expected. Even had he been less hindered by 
opposition from, the right, and less troubled by impatience 
on the left, he would still have failed. For from the beginning- 
to the end he was not quite sure where he wanted to go, let 
alone just how he was to get there. He liked to think that he 
had a plan, and kept insisting that all his stratagems were 
carefully considered parts of "a connected, logical whole."' 
Actually, however, he was improvising most of the time. 
Skilled navigator that he was, he knew he had to tack with 
the wind. His vessel, he realized, was no mere raft like that 
which Stalin commanded. It was a tall clipper, heavily 
freighted, and carrying passengers who screamed at every 
lurch. That made Mr. Roosevelt's task exceedingly difficult. 

Here was his problem. On the one hand he wanted to re- 
vive capitalism ; on the other, and at the same time, he wanted 
to reform it. To accomplish the first he had to give the 
businessmen fresh confidence, and to accomplish the second 
he necessarily had to deprive them of that confidence. As a 
result, whatever he did with his right hand he had to undo 
with his left. So how could he plan? 

The New Deal was at best a rough draft, or rather a series 
of rough drafts no two of which were quite consistent. Neces- 
sarily, therefore, there had to be confusion. For evidence one 
need merely look at what the New Deal was forced to do to 


aid agriculture. Essentially the farmers were the purest of 
all capitalists since they had never learnt to combine among 
themselves and reduce production when prices were low. Con- 
sequently, the Depression had hit them harder than any 
other capitalists. They had been literally knocked out, and 
the government could see only one way to set them on their 
feet again. That way, apparently, was to teach them how to 
become corrupt. The government had to show them that 
if they produced less, they would be able to profit more. So 
the farmers were actually paid not to grow all they could 
of wheat, cotton, and certain other "over-produced" crops. 
They were actually paid to slaughter their brood-animals. 
A New Deal sworn to create abundance went out of its way 
to enforce scarcity. 

The stratagem was monstrous, and yet apparently un- 
avoidable. Most of the other capitalist countries had had to 
resort to it in one form or another. Brazil was destroying 
millions of pounds of coffee each year in order to keep up 
the price in the world market. Ceylon was intentionally al- 
lowing many tea-plantations to go to seed, and Borneo was 
deliberately letting the jungle smother the rubber groves. 

It was mad, and people knew it was mad. Yet they could 
see no better way to extricate themselves from the blind 
alley into which they had somehow blundered. Consider, for 
example, what was done in Europe. Desperate to relieve her 
unemployment problem, Holland put thousands of men to 
work planting wheat in lands reclaimed from the Zuyder 
Zee. But when these new fields began to bear, more wheat 
was harvested than the market could absorb. What to do? 
Donate the surplus to the poor, and let them turn it into 
bread? No, that would wreck the current price of wheat. So 
instead the' surplus was dumped in Denmark, where there 
was a demand for cheap hog-fodder. But no sooner was that 


done than a new problem arose. The Danish pigs, having no 
respect for economics, took advantage of their improved 
diet to grow inordinately fat and fecund. Before long Den- 
mark found herself with more pigs on her hands than could 
possibly be sold at a profit. Again what to do? Bring the 
price of pigs so low that even the poorest might have bacon 
for breakfast? Certainly not! That would ruin the estab- 
lished market. So instead the pork was turned into fertilizer, 
and then dumped in Holland to be spread on the new wheat- 
fields that had been reclaimed in the Zuyder Zee ! . . . 

If the New Deal failed, it was because America, like every 
other capitalist land, was still wedded to an old error. People 
there continued to believe that a system born into a world 
cramped by scarcity was fit for a world swollen with abun- 
dance. The capitalist system had been good in its day. Not 
perfect, but definitely good. Now, however, its day was pass- 
ing perhaps even quite past. Yet most people continued 
to behave as though it were still present. They continued to 
climb over stiles which had long since been chopped up for 
kindling wood. They persisted in scrambling over high walls 
which had long ago crumbled into dust. They were blind. 
Most people were blind. Their eyes were still adjusted to the 
darkness which had reigned in former times. Now that they 
found themselves in the noonday glare, they were slow to 
discover that they need no longer grope. 

But they would learn eventually. Some had already begun 
to learn. The New Deal proved that. Despite all its limita- 
tions, despite all its confusions and evasions, the New Deal 
offered irrefutable proof that some people had begun to 
learn. For that phenomenon was not confined to the United 
States. It showed up in one form or another in many lands. 
A few have already been mentioned Britain, France, Scan- 


dinavia, Spain and there were others. For example, there 
was Palestine, where small but immensely impressive feats of 
progress were achieved during this period. Then there was 
Mexico, there was Chile, above all there was China. In each 
of those countries, and many more which might be named, 
a will asserted itself now to make the Machine fulfil its 

Yes, in many lands many people were beginning to realize 
at last why there was hunger in the midst of plenty, and 
strife where there was room only for peace. It was because 
psychology had failed to keep up with technology, because 
the ways of thought had lagged too far behind the needs of 
life. And the realization was leading to action. Rulers were 
being elected, or at least accepted, who were obviously bent 
on getting things done and good things, progressive things. 
They were men who, though they might move slowly, were 
determined to move ahead. This was happening in many 

But not in all. 


OT in all lands was thete that will 
to forge ahead along the path of 
peace and progress. Not in Ger- 
many, for example. There quite 
the opposite became true, and it is 
not hard to understand why. In 
Germany too many people had 
come to identify peace with shame 
and progress with despair. 
Consider what those people had had to endure since the 
War. First the humiliation of defeat, then the ordeal of po- 



litical revolution, then the drawn-out agony of financial 
chaos, then the sharp fever of artificial prosperity, finally 
the full horror of the Depression. It was too much. To be 
sure, the Russians had suffered worse; but they, after all, 
were Russians. The Germans were a more sensitive folk, at 
least to slights ; also they were less inured to bleak misery. 
They were a proud people who had been schooled by arro- 
gant rulers. They had a high culture and had been taught 
they deserved the highest place among the nations of the 
earth. Instead they felt themselves reduced almost to the 

So they were disgruntled. Even before the War they had 
been disgruntled, and insofar as they had had any choice in 
the matter, that was why they had entered it. They had 
hoped to lay hold of an empire befittingly grand for a nation 
so great as they believed their own to be. But they had lost, 
and the smart of failure had left them sorer than before. 
Moreover, the soreness kept waxing, for their victorious ri- 
vals, persisted in rubbing salt into their wounds. Many Ger- 
mans had shown a willingness to rise above their defeat in 
battle. They had admitted the error of the Kaiser's bloody 
course, and had set up a new government sworn to seek pros- 
perity by pursuing peace. It was a strenuously democratic 
government headed by men ardent for a better order in the 
world. Had that government been given a fair chance, it 
might have succeeded. 

But it was not given a fair chance. Certain other nations, 
especially France, were afraid to give it a chance, and this 
encouraged more and more Germans to refuse to do so. From 
the outset there had been much internal opposition to the 
new government. The old monarchists had opposed it because 
it was republican, and the former militarists because it was 
pacifist. The big industrialists had opposed it because it 


was too socialistic, and the more radical workers because it 
was not socialistic enough. And these hostile elements grew 
increasingly belligerent as the years passed. Every evil born 
of the War ? and every hardship entailed by the Peace, was 
blamed on the struggling regime. It was blamed because an 
inflation ruined the lower middle class and enriched a horde 
of classless profiteers. It was blamed because many German 
youths began to despise the martial spirit, and because many 
German maidens took to bobbing their hair. It was blamed 
for the growth of modern art and birth-control and nudism 
and unemployment. Also it was blamed because it tolerated 

Nevertheless the government managed to survive for a 
while. Indeed, after 1924 it almost thrived. That was because 
the worst features of the Treaty of Versailles had finally 
been mitigated, and more and more foreign capital had be- 
gun to flow into the land. Mention has already been made of 
the many billions that were loaned to Germany, and though 
most of the money had to be handed out again as "repara- 
tions," the rest remained in the country to finance a boom. 
It was a fairly considerable boom while it lasted. 

But then came 1929. No more building of new factories. 
There was no money for that and less need. The factories 
that had already been built could not find markets for their 
goods. Construction ceased, production waned, and unem- 
ployment grew fearfully. Even the young men, they who 
were always the last to be fired, even they lost their jobs 
now. By 1930 nearly half the young men in the country were 
looking for work. And when it became clear to them that no 
work was to be found, they began to look for trouble. 

Every other capitalist country was swept by the scythe of 
Depression, but in most of them there was sufficient stored 
wealth to blunt the stroke. The little shopkeepers and their 


kind could live off what they had tucked away in buried 
socks ; the utterly destitute could turn to their governments 
for doles. In Germany, however, nearly all the socks had 
been emptied during the inflation ten years earlier. More- 
over, the government was completely broke. Other countries 
could devalue their currencies, and thus needle their foreign 
trade. Germany did not dare. She was too fearful of reeling 
into another inflation. So she struggled to keep standing 
and the scythe cut off her head. 
Then Hitler took over. 

Herr Adolf Hitler was Germany's vengeance on the 
world, and it was a tragic vengeance, for he was a tragic 
character. He had been born into a household that crawled 
with hate, for his father, a petty customs official in an Aus- 
trian bordertown, had been literally and otherwise a bastard. 
3?he man had drunk heavily, married inveterately, and bul- 
lied all whom he dared. He had died in his cups in 1903, 
leaving a sick widow, a small pension, and numerous chil- 
dren of whom Adolf was the youngest. The boy was not 
prepossessing. He had sullen eyes, fidgety hands, and a 
moody passion for idling. His bent seemed to be toward 
painting, and when he was seventeen he went to Vienna in the 
hope of winning a scholarship at the Art Academy there. 
But his application was rejected he had more genius than 
talent and he was forced into casual labor. That made his 
spleen run over. He had to become a vagrant, living off 
scraps and sleeping in flop-houses: one more country-boy 
who had failed to make good in the city. For eight years he 
had to exist thus, homeless, nameless, and choking with 
spleen. Finally, when he was twenty-five, the War broke out 
and he found relief. 

The War brought him relief because it gave him some- 


thing to live for. No longer was he a lonely one lost in a 
void. Once he joined the army, he had a place to sleep, a uni- 
form to wear, a job to do, and a gun with which to do it. He 
"belonged. After so many years of aimless drifting, that was 
a very sweet boon. 

But then the War ended. The cause for which he had 
fought went down to defeat, and he was left once more a 
nobody possessing nothing and belonging nowhere. He could 
not stand it. Four years of war had stiffened his spine and 
left a twitch in his trigger-finger. Instead of succumbing to 
despair, he became a demagogue. 

The stricken country had begun to breed political parties 
much as a carcass breeds worms, so it was not difficult for 
Hitler to find a platform. In Munich he attached himself to 
a group of seedy cranks and noisy bar-flies who had organ- 
ized what they called the "German Workers Party. 5 * Al- 
most at once he became their leader, for though he seemed to 
know even less than some of the others, he was able to ex- 
press himself more vehemently. His ideas were as vague as 
his grammar was faulty; his gesticulations were as grace- 
less as his voice was harsh. But there was a deep and queer 
fury in the young man, and when he arose to speak it leaped 
out and inflamed all who listened. Soon there were hundreds 
who flocked to hear him, soon tens of hundreds. Most of them 
were impoverished and frustrate folk, and they flocked to 
hear him for the best of reasons. They could huddle for 
warmth around the blaze of his spirit, and get drunk on the 
raw liquor of his words. 

Hitler knew what those people wanted, for that same want 
had been in himself. They wanted to be told it was not their 
own fault that they were failures. They wanted to believe it 
was all because they had been cheated, robbed, betrayed. 
And they wanted to be assured that this treachery would 


not go unavenged. More than anything else they craved a 
warrant that they would yet be able to rise up and prove 
their prowess. 

So Hitler gave them that warrant. He told them that ene- 
mies within their own midst had conspired against them, 
that Jews, Jesuits, Marxists, Freemasons, all sorts of dark 
un-German forces, had plotted to bring them low. And he 
swore that if they, the "true" Germans, would only put their 
trust in him, if they would but let him take complete charge, 
he would annihilate those enemies and raise Germany to its 
proper place in the sun. He would make the nation so 
mighty that all others would tremble in its presence. He 
would prove to the whole world that "true" Germans were 
the greatest people on earth. 

And his listeners believed him. They believed because they 
wanted to believe, and also because they could see that he 
himself believed. So they did put their trust in him, more 
and more of them did that, and eventually he was actually 
able to wrest the authority he craved. It took time, of course. 
At first the majority of the Germans were inclined to laugh 
at "Handsome Adolf." He was slight and sallow, and when 
on his guard looked rather like an assistant floor-walker who 
still hoped for promotion. He wore a preposterous moustache* 
let a mop of hair fall over his brow, and usually had dan- 
druff on his coat-collar. He did not drink or smoke or eat 
meat; and from all reports he had never been married or 
anything. Some believed he was a homosexual, but others 
said he was too abnormal even for that. Most educated Ger- 
mans were quite embarrassed that such a creature should be 
able to attract any following at all. 

Nevertheless he was allowed to carry on. The government, 
being liberal, felt it had no right to suppress him. It merely 


prayed that the public would not give him support. And so 
long as jobs were fairly plentiful, so long as times were rela- 
tively good, most of the public did not give him support. On 
the contrary, it looked on the man as a maniac. 

But then came the Depression. Now Hitler was able to 
win millions of followers. He might be a madman, but most 
Germans were being driven mad, so they could not help look- 
ing to him as a leader. Sane men had governed Germany for 
more than ten years now, and what had they accomplished? 

Adolf Hitler claimed to be directing a revolution; actu- 
ally he was being swept along by a revulsion. In part it was 
a revulsion against the kind of government that had ruled 
Germany since the War ; but basically it was something far 
graver. Basically, as we shall see, it was a revulsion against 
the whole trend of civilization since the Eighteenth Century. 
That trend had been toward a broader use of reason and a 
wider grant of freedom. People had believed that science 
could solve every earthly problem, and that democracy would 
destroy every social ill. They had believed that they needed 
merely to continue doing as they had done, constantly in- 
venting more and better machines, constantly yielding more 
and greater liberties, constantly printing more and braver 
books, constantly producing more and readier comforts, and 
inevitably the whole world would become a Paradise. 

But the Depression put an end to all that at least in 
Germany. After 1929 the bulk of the people there began 
almost to loathe the faith they had formerly cherished. They 
felt it was a false faith, a lie as gross as the paunch on a 
profiteer. As early as 1918 millions of Germans had already 
begun to doubt that faith; but they had closed their eyes 
and clamped their jaws and struggled to swallow their sus- 


picions. Now, however, they knew. The Depression had 
thrust an iron claw down their throats, and now they were 
retching up all that had so long roiled inside them. 

Yet had that been the whole of the story, the worst might 
not have ensued. The Depression would have passed, taking 
the nausea with it, and the Germans would have begun to 
accept the old faith all over again. They would have learnt 
once more to believe in the possibility of progress. That, as 
we have seen, was what did happen in other lands. But in 
Germany the revulsion was too intense. It left the people so 
sickened that many of them would not hear of any "new 
deals." They wanted to have done with the game itself. They 
no longer had any desire for what the world called progress. 
They wanted to retreat. They wanted to go back to the sort 
of life they imagined their ancestors had lived, a life simple 
and earthy, harsh and heroic, slow as the seasons, stark as 
the thunder-clouds, bloody as the slaughter-pits. 

So they took to shouting, "Heil Hitler !" 


HE Germans succumbed to Hitler 
for the same reason that the 
Americans elected Roosevelt, and 
the Russians accepted Stalin : they 
believed he could save them. Hit- 
ler, too, had a program, and it 
seemed to appeal to the Germans 
precisely because it was the op- 
posite of both Roosevelt's and 
Stalin's. The latter two, though profoundly dissimilar, had 
at least one thing in common : they were headed in the same 


direction. Both aimed to make the Machine fulfil its promise ; 
both sought to make life more abundant and urbane; both 
were obviously progressive. But Hitler's program? that 
was just as obviously regressive. In most respects it was 
comparable to the program which Mussolini had already ini- 
tiated in Italy, the chief difference being that Hitler seemed 
bent on regressing with greater thoroughness and speed. He 
came of a people who were peculiarly gifted for thorough- 
ness, and his own frenetic nature made him a demon for 
speed. Besides and this may well have been the most telling 
factor he was sincere. Hitler, unlike Mussolini, was no mere 
careerist. Regression to him was more than an expedient. It 
was a matter of principle. 

Hitler believed that mankind had gone astray. Ever since 
the dawn of modern times the race had been painfully strug- 
gling to develop its intellectual faculties and curb its pas- 
sions. It had been laboring with all its might to be "ra- 
tional." The prevailing philosophy had scorned fanaticism, 
and bigotry, and had insisted that people must think things 
through, see both sides of the question in short, be "scien- 
tific." And most people who were at all educated had actu- 
ally tried to follow that prescription, or had at least known 
that they ought to try. But not Hitler. To him the whole 
idea of rationalism seemed perverse. He was a mystic, and 
insisted that intuition was a far surer guide to truth than 
cogitation. The fact that this made him appear an eccentric 
merely proved to him how grievously mankind had been mis- 
led. It revealed how much damage had been done because the 
schools had set out to "enlighten" the young rather than 
indoctrinate them. "Education," declared Hitler, "ought to 
be confined to broad and general convictions . . . drummed 
into the minds and hearts of the people by incessant repe- 


Hitler believed that truth was essentially non-rational, 
even irrational, and for that reason if no other he simply 
could not help being regressive. Irrationalism was the cor- 
nerstone which the builders of the modern world had most 
contemptuously rejected. They had seen what evil effects it 
had had in the past: how it had enforced scarcity, cemented 
ignorance, buttressed despotism, and blocked progress. 
These, however, were precisely the effects which Hitler most 
ardently desired. He did not consider them evil at all. On 
the contrary, from where he stood, high on a mountain of 
supermania, they looked good. So he set out to achieve 

His first task, therefore, was necessarily one of destruc- 
tion. He had to demolish the entire ideological framework 
that sustained modern civilization. He had to assail not 
alone rationality, but also liberty, equality, fraternity, ur- 
banity, and every other ideal of the Liberal Age. And that 
was just what he did do. Right from the start he inveighed 
against liberty. Most people, he insisted, did not want it 
anyway. They were inherently slavish, and wanted nothing 
but discipline. Moreover, said he, it was not merely foolish 
but criminal to try to make them over. People had no valid 
right to individual freedom since in reality they had no indi- 
vidual being. Only that to which they belonged, their herd, 
their nation, their State, that alone had real individuality. 
Therefore that alone might call its soul its own; the State 
alone could properly claim the privilege of doing as it 
pleased. Moreover, to exercise that privilege the State was 
in duty bound to deny it to all citizens. The State must 
absolutely control everything said or done or even thought 
within its domain. It must be "totalitarian" and not just 
temporarily, ajs the stupid Bolsheviks said, but forever. 

And what was true of liberty was equally true of equal- 


ity. Hitler was all against it. People were not all of one 
kind biologically, so why should they be of one class so- 
cially? Females, for example, were obviously less strong than 
males. Did it not follow, therefore, that they deserved fewer 
privileges? The feminist trend of modern times seemed to 
Hitler a "sin against Nature." Women, he believed, were fit 
at best only to mate with men, never to compete with them. 
Therefore he insisted that they ought to be put back where 
they had always belonged in the kitchen cooking, or in 
bed bearing children. 

Moreover, the men themselves were not all of equal capac- 
ity, so even among them there ought to be no equal rights. 
A few were obviously born to lead, and the rest as obviously 
to follow. The male population of each state ought there- 
fore to be sorted out and arranged in levels. A "natural" 
society was one built like a pyramid, with power grading 
down from the wilful Dictator on the pinnacle to the witless 
horde at the base. To achieve that, of course, the old aris- 
tocratic principle must be revived, but made to function in 
a new way now or rather in the oldest way of all. Rank 
must be decided not on the basis of wealth or breeding, but 
solely on each man's innate capacity for leadership. More- 
over, this capacity must first be recognized from above, and 
only then acknowledged from below. None could be elected 
to exercise authority; all must be appointed. Even the Dic- 
tator must be appointed by himself. 

Moreover, the same arrangement must be established 
among the various race's, for these too were obviously not 
of one quality. Some were inherently superior, and others 
as inherently inferior. Consequently it was "unnatural" to 
talk of world-fraternity. Hitler was convinced that the 
Brotherhood of Man was nothing but a diabolical lie in- 
vented by Jews and disseminated by Bolsheviks in order to 


"corrupt the blood of their betters." Just what he meant 
by "blood" was more than a little vague he was anti- 
semantic as well as anti-Semitic but nevertheless he used 
the word constantly. "Blood," he insisted, was the one im- 
portant criterion of nationality. Therefore there must be no 
mingling, no mixing, no crossing the boundaries set by dif- 
ferences of "blood." The fact that science had failed to 
discover any such differences meant nothing to Hitler. He 
was a confirmed ir rationalist, so he had small respect for 
science. All he cared about was the "dictates of the Eternal 
Will," and these informed him that brotherhood was proper 
solely within the herd. 

Did that mean that outside the herd there must always 
be hostility? Certainly, said Hitler. "The obligation in ac- 
cordance with the Eternal Will that dominates this universe 
[is] to promote the victory of the better and stronger races, 
and to demand the submission of the worse and weaker." 
Therefore any race that wished to fulfil its divine obliga- 
tion would necessarily have to gird for battle. Realizing that 
its welfare was dependent primarily on warfare, it would 
have to assign the bulk of its industry to the production of 
effective slaughter-goods, and devote most of its education 
to the training of efficient slaughterers. And not just for a 
time. No, forever. 

That, of course, would entail hardship ; but, said Hitler, 
so much the better. The more hardship a race inflicted on 
itself, the tougher it became, and hence the more capable of 
wresting power. And that, after all, was the object most to 
be desired in life. A race worthy to be called noble did not 
want comfort. It wanted Power. To what end? So that it 
might be able to conquer all other races. And after it had 
conquered them might it then relax and seek comfort ? Oh, 
no ! If it ever did that it would become soft, and be con- 


quered. Therefore whatever made for ease, all amenity and 
urbanity, all grace and charm and creature convenience, all 
that must be forgotten. The most virtuous use that could be 
made of machines was to produce the weapons that would 
destroy machines. The only excuse for cities was: that they 
were the arsenals producing the means to demolish cities. If 
that meant that ultimately the world would be rid of ma- 
chines and empty of cities, well and good. Perhaps only in 
such a world, one bare and primeval, could the good life be 
restored. Only in a world stark of comfort could life again 
become stark in the German sense: that is, "strong." Then 
man would once more be able to live as had his ancestors: 
harshly, dangerously, like the beasts. Existence would be 
sweet again with the bitterness of pain, and warm with the 
terror of death. Man could come back into his own and his 
own would be the wilderness. 

Such, by implication if not admission, was the program 
which Hitler offered his people and the world. What it 
entailed was- clear in every paragraph. It was an assault on 
all that mankind had been consciously striving for since at 
least the Eighteenth Century, It was an assault on all the 
bastions of the spirit that had been built with so great toil 
in modern times. It was against reason, liberty, equality, 
fraternity, peace, progress, and the pursuit of happiness. 
More : in its admiration for the berserk, and its lust to revert 
to the bucolic, it was fundamentally against the Machine. 
Consequently, it aimed to frustrate all that the political 
revolutions in America and France and Russia had preached, 
and undo all that the Industrial Revolution throughout the 
world had begun to achieve. In substance it was a panicky 
scream, for total counter-revolution. 

To be sure, Hitler himself did not say it was that. Quite 


possibly he did not even know it. In any event, what he did 
say was so confused and confusing that it was long before 
the world got the point. Even many of Hitler's most devoted 
followers failed to see where he was bound to drag them. 
The more foolish among them did not try to see, and the 
rest did not dare to look. Yet his conduct even while still a 
slum-scouring agitator should have made the truth all too 
plain. If in no other way, he surely betrayed himself by the 
curious ferocity with which he inveighed against the Jews. 

Whatever else the Jews may have been, first and foremost 
they were a symbol. They more than any other group on 
earth bespoke the modern spirit, for to that spirit they 
owed their very life. Not their existence, of course that 
dated from ancient days but their life as free humans. 
Such life virtually ceased for them in the medieval era, and 
it was not renewed again until the dawn of modern times. 
And that was why they were such devotees of the modern 
spirit. In a certain sense they were that spirit incarnate 
with all its faults as well as virtues. 

To benighted folk the Jews had always appeared to be a 
sinister element, and in one small sense this impression was 
correct. The Latin sinister means "left," and there is no 
denying that the Jews were inordinately prone to be leftish. 
There was a reason. At the time of the French Revolution it 
was solely the radicals seated on the left benches of the 
Estates-General who urged the emancipation of the Jews. 
And this remained true in France and everywhere else from 
then on. Always and everywhere it was the forces on the 
left that spoke up for the Jew. Naturally so, for those forces 
believed in progress, and they recognized that the Jew was 
peculiarly adapted to help that cause. Nor was this solely 
because Jews knew that reaction brought them persecution. 
The Gypsies knew that too, yet they never became agents of 


progress. The American Negroes knew it, so did the Hindu 
untouchables, yet those elements and countless others that 
stood to gain under the auspices of progress nevertheless 
remained stubbornly conservative. The decisive factor in the 
case of the Jew seems to have been that he was conditioned 
for progress by his natural habitat. Progress was primarily 
a product of the city, and the Jew was primarily a city 

That explains his spectacular advance in the Machine 
Age. Industrialism, it must be remembered, arose in the 
cities, so the Jew was able to rise with it. He was already 
at home in the cities, and had been at home in them for at 
least a thousand years. Ever since the Dark Ages, when the 
law had forbidden him to own land, he had had no other 
way to live than as a trafficker in goods or gold. Conse- 
quently, when the Machine arrived he was all prepared to 
climb aboard. Industrialism required capital, and he was the 
man to advance it; industrialism produced wares, and he 
was the man to sell them ; industrialism agglomerated work- 
ers, and he was the man to help them organize. He could 
read and write, and he could count ; he had the cunning born 
of persecution and the daring born of desperation. There- 
fore he was at an advantage now. All the talents bred in him 
by forty generations of urban life were able to flourish with 
the triumph of urban enterprise. 

The Jew became the arch-capitalist, the arch-socialist, 
and also the arch-intellectual. For the city did more than 
bring forth factories and slums. It spawned universities, 
academies, conservatories, libraries. Consequently the Jew 
was able to move in on these, too. It was no accident that he 
became a leader in the arts and the learned professions. Now 
that the Machine had come into the world, there was more 
time and money to devote to cultural pursuits ; and ninety- 


nine out of every hundred Jews at least in the West 
lived right around the places where that devotion was most 
hotly pursued. It was as natural for the Jews to become 
prize scholars as it was for the sea-girt Swedes to become 
prime sailors. 

And that helps to account for the queer violence of Hit- 
ler's hostility to the Jews. He preached anti-Semitism for 
more than mere demagogic reasons. He genuinely believed 
that in fighting Israel he was, as he himself put it, "working 
in the spirit of the Almighty Creator/' For to him the 
Almighty Creator was in a quite literal sense a pagan god 
that is, a deity of the pagus, the "countryside." And Israel 
had become the living symbol of the city. Therefore Hitler 
had no choice. The restoration of the primeval way of life 
necessarily entailed the destruction of the culture bred in 
cities, and that in turn absolutely required the obliteration 
of any influence wielded by Jews. The man who had once 
been denied a scholarship in Vienna may have been deranged; 
but he was consistent. 

All that, however, was largely lost on the world until too 
late. When Hitler came to power in Germany in 1933, most 
people imagined that he would turn out to be at most an- 
other Mussolini. The latter had been frothing much the same 
reactionary doctrines for fully a decade already. Had he 
not repeatedly called liberty a "putrid carcass," and equal- 
ity a "weakling's filthy dream"? Had he not roared from 
a hundred balconies that war alone can make a people 
"great"? Yet thus far Mussolini had apparently managed 
to do very little harm. Some people were inclined to argue 
that he had even done some good. Had he not made the Ital- 
ian trains run on time? 

But there was a difference. Though Fascism too was an 


attempt to reverse the trend of civilization, it carried little 
of the threat inherent in Nazism. That was because Italy 
was relatively a backward country. (Note how few Jews it 
contained.) Though Mussolini too had set out to turn the 
clock back, he had been able at most to move the hands. He 
had been impotent to tamper with the works, because in 
Italy the works did not amount to much. But in Germany 
they were colossal. Even Britain did not have as good an 
industrial plant, and only the United States had a better 
one. With Hitler in command of Germany, the tide of prog- 
ress was really in danger of being turned. 

The major force behind that tide had been the Machine, 
and now Hitler was in a position to throw the Machine it- 
self into reverse. He was in a position to put horse-power 
behind his drive for world power. James Watt had labored 
for years to contrive a little steam-engine capable of empty- 
ing a coal mine of water. Hitler needed merely to throw a 
switch, and a whole nation of engines stood ready to flood 
the world with blood. 

The world, however, failed to see that. It stared but it 
did not see until too late. 

By then the switch had already been thrown. 


ITLER set out to turn the course 
of civilization, and at first there 
seemed to be neither the means nor 
the will to stop him. The elements 
that should have offered resistance 
from the start were too divided 
among themselves, and what was 
worse too confused within them- 
selves. On the one hand there were 
the liberal capitalists, on the other the radical socialists, 
and had the two combined in time, they might have broken 



Hitler's legs before he could take his first step. But they 
did not combine. How could they, seeing that both dreaded 
him less than they distrusted each other? True, there was 
much talk for a while about establishing a "united front" 
against him, but it was merely talk. AH it created was a 
fa9ade behind which each of the nominal allies connived with 
the actual enemy. The rulers of Britain and France secretly 
hoped to see Hitler march on Russia, and for that reason if 
no other they did nothing to keep him from arming. They 
even helped him. At the eleventh hour, however, the rulers 
of Russia agreed to supply him with food and fuel if he 
would march instead against Britain and France. That gave 
Hitler his chance. Soon he was marching all over Europe. 

And conquering. 

It was the Napoleonic story over again, but with one 
hair-raising difference. This time the conqueror was a re- 
actionary. When Napoleon invaded Poland, he decreed the 
abolition of serfdom; when Hitler overran that land he 
introduced forced labor. Wherever Napoleon encountered 
ghetto walls, he tore them down; wherever Hitler saw a 
chance he put them up. These were typical contrasts, and 
they reflect more than a mere intellectual disparity between 
two men. Basically they reveal the spiritual cleavage be- 
tween two eras. Napoleon had been the champion of a revolu- 
tion, and his success was due in large part to the fact that 
in his day the world had been ready for revolution. If Hitler 
could enjoy a similar success a hundred and thirty years 
later, it was obviously because by then the world had be- 
come just as ready for revulsion. 

And there lies the crux of this whole story. If hundreds 
of millions of people were willing to give in to Hitler, it was 
because at heart they had already given out. They had 


momentarily lost faith in their own way of life. So much 
had gone wrong with it that they had hegun to think the 
way itself might not be right. Hitler was therefore more an 
effect than a cause. He did not initiate the revulsion against 
progress ; he merely implemented it. He was not the woiwd 
"but the gangrene. 

The main force making for progress had been the Ma- 
chine, and one must remember that the Machine had always 
been resented in certain quarters. The duller lords had re- 
sented it, and so had the prouder peasants and craftsmen. 
The more precious poets had resented it, and so had any 
number of moody philosophers. And certain of these had 
known how to articulate their resentment. Highly gifted men 
for example Wagner, Thoreau, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, 
Spengler, Chesterton these as well as scores of misanthropic 
hacks had worked themselves into an ivory-towering rage 
against industrialism. And the literature born of that rage 
had had considerable influence. Even had it been less bril- 
liant and more logical it would still have had some effect, 
for it voiced a feeling that lurked in the hearts of most 

Most people, it must be realized, had never really taken 
to the Machine ; they had merely put up with it. They had 
accepted it with reluctance, even with repugnance, much as 
an impoverished maiden might accept a suitor who was rich 
but looked ugly and stern. The fault lay with themselves, of 
course. They did not try to understand the Machine. It was 
something new in life, and to enjoy it to the full, indeed to 
enjoy it at all, the human race had to develop a new way 
of living. Morals and politics, manners and economics, all 
these had to be made over completely. Common thought had 
to become more rational, private enterprise more orderly, 


and collective effort more universal in its scope. Liberty^ 
equality, and fraternity had to become actual and world- 

But most people failed to realize that. Fundamentally 
they were like the peasant in the runaway locomotive who 
cannot comprehend why it will not start when he says 
"Giddap !" or stop when he shouts "Whoa !" 

That was why industrialism caused such chaos when it 
came roaring into the world, why it flung up so much horror 
and spewed forth so much filth. To be sure, these evils were 
somewhat alleviated with time; but not fast enough, and 
never adequately. Progress was indeed achieved, but more 
by default than intention. Mankind never really marched 
toward betterment ; it backed into it. So the Black Life per- 
sisted. Even after a hundred and fifty years it was still 
virulent wherever it had been able to take root. 

Nor was that the worst. Even had amelioration come more 
swiftly and surely, most people might still have nursed a 
grudge against the Machine. That was because the Machine 
enforced the growth of an order which they found hard on 
their nerves. It created a life that seemed to be all push, all 
g? g? g The lights were too bright, the noises too loud, 
the tempo too swift and febrile. Almost all existence was 
made urban even in the remote countryside it was at least 
sub-urban and most people had a difficult time adjusting 
themselves to the change. At bottom they were still what 
their ancestors had been: peasants. During thousands of 
years they had lived one kind of life, and here they were 
being asked to learn to live another almost overnight. They 
just couldn't do it. They were told to rush, and they didn't 
want to rush. Not all the time, at least. In the past they 
had rushed only when there was killing to be done, or some 
other fine hot passion to indulge. The rest of the time they 


had idled. And that was still their desire. Most of the time 
they wanted to move slowly like the sun, like the seasons, 
like the growing things in the earth. 

This constant rushing around made them tired. Not 
physically tired ; they could have stood that. No, mentally 
tired. The ordinary man had more time on his hands now, 
yet he seemed to find less leisure. There were too many 
things to want, too many strangers to face, too many prob- 
lems to worry about. Nearly every aspiration of this new 
way of life was a strain on the ordinary man. The strain 
may have been unconscious, and a small price to pay for 
what it bought, but that did not make it any the less tiring. 

Take liberty, for example: that was very tiring. Instead 
of allowing a man to sit back and wait for orders, it told 
him he must up and think for himself. Where once he had 
been able to lean on the crutch of tradition or authority, 
now he had to stand on his own feet. Wasn't that tiring? 

Or take equality. According to that principle, a man no 
longer had a right to be content with the lot to which he 
had been born. He had to improve it, make it as good as the 
best, or write himself down a failure. And it was even worse 
for a woman. Where once she had been forbidden to think 
herself the equal of a man, now she was scorned if she 
thought anything else. Moreover, she was expected not alone 
to think that but to prove it. She had to earn her own living, 
insist on her own freedom, and expect a seat in a crowded 
subway only if she fought for it. Could anything have been 
more tiring than that? 

Or take this obligation of indiscriminate fraternity. 
Whether a man liked it or not, he just had to accept it now. 
The Machine had so churned up the population that it was 
almost impossible any longer to live exclusively with one's 
own kind. Strangers were all over the place. One had to 


learn to get along not alone with people who came from 
foreign lands, but even with those who never left them. That 
was perhaps the most tiring demand of all. 

The convenient buffer of distance had been all but de- 
stroyed by the Machine. The iron fingers of industrialism 
had fastened themselves around the planet and crushed it 
all into one tiny pellet. No advanced country could exist 
unto itself any longer, for none could provide for all its 
needs. Even so enormous a country as the United States was 
unable to do that. It might be able to get along without 
Swiss cheese, Scotch whiskey, Cayenne pepper, and West- 
phalian ham. But what about Sumatran rubber, Bolivian 
tungsten, Canadian nickel, or Malayan tin? Without these, 
and a hundred other imported commodities, American indus- 
try was ready for the junk-pile. And that was truer still of 
all other countries. The whole world had become one small 
settlement in which all nden were next-door neighbors. But 
most of them did not care to have so many neighbors. They 
had been willing enough to talk about the ideal of the Broth- 
erhood of Man, but now they were called on to practice it. 
That hurt. 

There was a great deal in this machine-powered civiliza- 
tion that hurt. Bright professors and liberal preachers might 
say it was a salutary hurt, but that did not help much. Only 
one thing helped, and that was the thought of what could 
be gained at the price of the pain. For this civilization cer- 
tainly offered compensations for the strain it imposed on 
mankind. At any rate, it had offered them. It had produced 
more physical convenience, more cultural enlightenment, 
more democracy, decency, urbanity, and prosperity than had 
ever existed on earth before. Thanks to industrialism, the 
general well-being had advanced farther in five generations 
than in any fifty preceding ones. 


And so long as that advance continued, there was rela- 
tively little complaint. Now and again some sweet-souled 
poet might whimper that machinery was blighting the earth, 
or some bear-tempered philosopher might roar that city life 
was corrupting the race ; but the population as a whole had 
paid little heed. Most people had refused to turn against 
the Machine so long as it had kept clanking. They had 
been content to put up with urban life so long as it had 
continued to give them a chance to rise. If they suffered a 
certain amount of nervous strain, they had stood for it 
much as a glutton stands for the heartburn after a good 

That was why industrial civilization had been able to 
advance so spectacularly for at least a century and a half* 
People had tolerated it because they had believed it could 
fulfil its promises. They had seen it fulfil them at least 
partially. They had seen opportunities expand, and ameni- 
ties increase, and generosity grow more common on every 
side. And this had engendered a widespread buoyancy, an 
almost universal optimism. Everywhere there had been the 
feeling that day by day in every way the world was getting 
better and better. 

But then there was a sickening jolt. It came just when 
optimism seemed most in order, for by that date all the 
basic problems of technology had been virtually solved* 
The Machine was no longer the hideous, rattling monster it 
had been in early times. It had outgrown its infancy, out- 
grown even its adolescence. Now it was almost a mature 
thing, clean, swift, and beautifully efficient. Gone was the 
need to pack its cogs with human flesh, gone the need to oil 
its wheels with human sweat. The Machine was becoming 
very nearly automatic, and man was free at last to advance 
as never before. At last the means were within his grasp to 


banish want forever, and with it the cause of most of the 
woe that had plagued him since the beginning of time. Now 
he had a chance really to get ahead. 

But he lost it. Just as he began to get into a stride, the 
earth suddenly quaked, and he stumbled. The great World 
War set the whole earth quaking, and man fell flat on his 
face. That should have served as a warning ; but it did not. 
Once the War ended, and man could find his feet again, he 
brushed himself off and started to run on just as blindly as 
before. And even more wildly. Capitalism was allowed to 
grow increasingly monopolistic, and nationalism more and 
more rabid. So only one thing could ensue and it did. 
Came the Depression, and man fell a second time. The very 
heavens seemed to crumble now, the earth's foundations fled, 
and man fell so hard this time that he could not so quickly 
find his feet again. In some lands it looked as though he 
would never find them. 

Whereupon panic broke loose. Hundreds of millions of 
people became distraught and desperate. The worst afflicted 
were of course the young, those who had grown up since the 
War, for they felt they had been betrayed. Where, they 
asked, were the promises that their elders had so often made 
them, where the jobs to take, the ladders to climb, the for- 
tunes to lay hold of? Where were the opportunities that 
were supposed to knock on their door? Where, for that mat- 
ter, was the door? It had been carried off by the landlord 
or chopped down for kindling wood. It had vanished to- 
gether with almost everything else that had once provided 
at least seeming security. Faith had vanished. Hope had van- 
nished. Only a little doled-out charity remained, and even 
that seemed about to vanish. Was it any wonder, therefore, 
that so many young ones turned desperate? The sins of 


their parents had been visited on them too heavily. All the 
Imperfections of the past had piled up on them, all the blun- 
ders caused by haste, all the crimes bred by greed, and 
this was the worst all the stupidities born of mental sloth. 
Who then can blame those young ones if they grew violent? 

Rage seemed to be the only emotion befitting that genera- 
tion, black rage against all that its forebears had done or 
dreamed. What had been latent from the very beginning had 
a chance to become overt and overwhelming now. Dema- 
gogues arose everywhere to preach open revolt against the 
whole scheme of liberal civilization. They took wild words 
out of Hitler's mouth just as he had taken them out of 
Mussolini's and damned every influence that had helped 
create the modern way of life. And great multitudes flocked 
to listen and cheer. They were sick of that way of life, sick 
and tired of it because they felt it had failed them. What- 
ever had been good about it had not been good enough. Sc 
now they were ready to believe it had been all bad. 

And it was this that enabled Hitler to march and con- 
quer. His battles were half-won even before he began to 
march, for those who might have halted him had at first 
hardly half a mind to try. 

But only at first. Then they caught hold of themselves; 
late, but not too late, they turned and made a stand. Luckily 
the spirit of counter-revolution, though widespread, had 
never become universal. There were people left in the world 
who had not ceased to believe in the possibility of progress, 
people who were convinced that the real wave of the future 
could never be a backwash to the past. In every land there 
were some people like that, and in some lands there were 
many. And that was what saveid the day. 

Only for a while but what an evil while ! were the forces 


of reaction able to sweep all before them. They had the big- 
ger tanks and the newer bombers and the fiercer will then. 
The believers in progress had allowed themselves to be caught 
off their guard. They had argued while the others armed; 
they had relied on reason while the others primed their guns. 
But they woke up in time. Just in time they woke up to the 
J ate awaiting them unless they made a stand. They saw then 
that more was at stake than the mastery of certain lands, or 
the primacy of a certain people. A way of life was at stake. 

It had always been a faulty way, but by contrast with 
that which now threatened to take its place, it looked very 
nearly perfect. Those who had not yet abandoned it began 
to recall all the good things it had already yielded: the 
plenitude, the cleanness, the health and comfort and every- 
day decency. They recalled how it had wiped out the curse 
of slavery, lessened the blight of poverty, released women 
from their subservience to men, and men from their thraldom 
to lords. They bethought themselves of all it had done to 
foster science, and of the prodigies it had accomplished 
through the spread of education. They remembered suddenly 
how it had begun to give a new quality to life, a new richness 
and roundness and meaning. And thereupon a fire flooded 
their bones, and they made ready (at last!) really to fight. 

It was a calamitous thing, they knew, to have to fight for 
civilization. Fighting for it would necessarily leave it maimed. 
But, they reasoned, better a maimed civilization than a dead 

So they girded themselves and fought. 

And they won. They had by far the greater resources, so 
it was inevitable that they should win in the end. But that 
end was only the beginning. After the war came the peace, 
and this time, having learnt their lesson, men sought to make 
it truly a sound and lasting peace. They were not content 


merely to redraw the map ; they set out to remake the world. 
For they knew then how drastically it needed to be remade, 
how desperately it needed to be rebuilt stone by stone from 
the very foundations. They realized at last why so much had 
gone wrong in the past. It was because so little effort had 
ever been made to set things right. Six generations had failed 
to perceive that the Machine was a new thing under the sun, 
and that, if it was to serve them as it could and should, they 
must create a new earth. 

But then came that seventh generation, and it knew better. 

Or did it? 



Adams, John Quincy: 47. 

Ade, George: 148. 

Advertising: 144; 288 ff. 

Algeria: 173. 

Annam: 174. 

Anti-Semitism: 341. 

Apprentices: in industry , 14 ff.; 


Arabs: 8. 
Asquith: 232. 
Austria-Hungary: 69; 229-30. 

Baader, Franz von: 91. 

Baluchistan: 166. 

Beaconsfield, Earl of: 165-6. 

Bechuanaland: 166. 

Belgium: industrialization, 63-4; 
imperialism, 176 ff. 

Ben6t, Stephen Vincent: 288-9. 

Bethmann-Hollweg: 232. 

Beveridge, Senator Albert J.: 182. 

Birmingham, Ala.: 132. 

Birmingham, England: 2. 

Bismarck: career, 119 ff.; favors 
monopolies, 139; 173; on im- 
perialism, 191-2; resigns, 193. 

Black Life: in Britain, 11 ff.; in 
Russia, 251; 280; 846. 

Blanqui: 91. 

Blast furnace: 5. 

Bolsheviki: 220; 242 ff. 

Boer Republics: 166. 

Borsig: 67. 

Boulton, Matthew: 2. 

Brazil: 322. 

Britain, Great: starts industrial- 
ism, 6 ff.; "domestic" industry, 
12; factory system, 13; agri- 
culture, 23 ff.; foreign trade, 
38; socialism, 45 ff. ; capital- 
ism, 51 ff.; railways, 70 ff.; 
Chartism, 79 If. ; growth of 
population, 80; rise of wages, 
149; capitalist dilemma, 150 
jff.; imperialism, 157 ff.; wutp 
o/ empire, 167. 

Browning, Robert: 74. 

Bucharin: 245. 

Burgher: derivation of term, 66. 

Burma: 166. 

Byron: 29. 

Cabet: 91. 

Caesar: 236. 

California: gold rush, 94. 

Capitalism: theory, 52 ff.; merits, 

99 if. ; criticism, 104 ff. ; tw #<?r- 

many, 124; under New Deal, 

316 ff. 

Carnegie, Andrew: 209. 
Caveat emptor: 145. 
Chain Stores: 143. 
Chartism: 86. 
Chesterton: 345. 
Chicago: 132. 
Children: enter industry, 14 ff.; 

"free," 20 ff.; child-labor laws, 


China: 186; 280. 
Christian Socialists: 83. 
Cincinnati: 102. 




Civil War, U. S.: causes, 113-5; 

effect on U. S., 116; effect on 

Britain, 156. 
Clarke, Tommy: 21, 22. 
Clemenceau, George: 259-60; 263. 
Cleveland: 136. 
Cochin-China: 173. 
Cockerill: 64. 
Colquhoun, Patrick: 42. 
Columbus, Christopher, 157. 
Comintern: 252-3; 306. 
Communism: theory, 104 ff.; 216 ff.; 

vs. war, 231. 
Communist International: 252-3; 

Communist Manifesto, The: 108-9; 


Competitive system: 39; 54 ff. 
Congo, Belgian: 178-80. 
Contraceptive aids : 284. 
Cooperative Stores: 84-5; 145-6. 
Corporative State: 277. 
Cossacks: 240. 
Crimean War: 159. 
Cyprus: 166. 
Czechoslovakia: 260; 270. 

Dahomey: 174. 
Daimler, Gottlieb: 128. 
Dardanelles: 200. 
Debs, Eugene V.: 232. 
Declaration of Independence: 1. 
Democracy: in U.8.S.R., 270-1. 
Denmark: 322-3. 
Department Stores: 143. 
Depression, 1929: 297 ff.; in Ger- 
many, 331. 

Dictatorship : in Russia, 270-1. 
Diesel engines: 281. 
Dime Stores: 144. 
Disarmament: 208 ff. 
Disraeli, Benjamin, 164 ff. 
Du Fonts: 202. 
Dzugashvili: see StaUn. 

Eaton, T., Co.: 144. 
Edison, Thomas A.: 127; 128. 

Education: Origin of mass educa- 
tion, 32. 

Edward VII: 178. 

Egypt: 166. 

Eighteenth Century: character of, 

Electrocution: 128. 

Engels, Friedrich: 108; 109; 111; 
215; 219. 

England: see Britain. 

Erlangen, University of: 72. 

Ethiopia: 191. 

Eucharistic Congresses: 207. 

Fabian Society: 219. 

Faraday, Michael: 127; 128, 

Fascism: 272 ff. 

Fashion: 147; 289. 

Ferry, Jules: 174. 

Fichte, Johann Gottlieb: 121. 

Fiji Islands: 160; 166. 


Five-Year Plan: 308 ff. 

Flying-shuttle: 5. 

Ford, Henry: 128; 287 ff.; 289-90. 

Foreign: etymology of, 208. 

Formosa: 186. 

Fourier: 91. 

Fourteen Points: 256-7; 258. 

France: industrialization, 64; So- 
cialism, 90-3; 96; imperialism, 
172 ff.; Franco-Prussian War, 
173 ; in Tunisia, 190-1 ; 269. 

Franco-Prussian War: 123. 

Franz Ferdinand, Archduke: 288 ff. 

Freemasonry: 275. 

Gasoline engine: 281. 

Gentleman: first use of term, 98. 

Germany: before industry, 65 ff.; 
Revolution 1848, 109; Bis- 
marck, 119 ff.; unification, 123; 
monopolies, 139; imperialism, 
191 ff.; 210 ff.; socialism, 216; 
World War, 263-4; post-War, 
291-2; Depression, 302; Hitler, 
325 ff. 



Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Co.: 


Great Britain: see Britain. 
Greece: 200. 
Greeley, Horace: 110, 
Guinea: 174. 
Gypsies: 339. 

Hague Conferences: 210-2. 

Hapsburg Empire: 254. 

Hawaii: 182. 

Hero: 113. 

Hess: 91. 

Hitler, Adolf: 328 ff. 

Hohenzollern Empire: 254. 

Holding companies: 138-9. 

Holland: 178; 322. 

Hoover, Herbert: 293, 295, 299, 302. 

Hoovervilles: 301. 

Horthy: 278. 

Hudson, George: 78 ff. 

Imperialism: nationalism, 162; 

profits of, 170 ff.; evils of, 


India: 166; 280. 
Indo-China: 174. 
Industrial Revolution: first, 1 ff.; 

second, 126 ff.; third, 218 ff.; 

effect on imperialism, 159 ff. 
Installment Plan: 290. 
Internationalism: 207 ff. 
Inter-Parliamentary Union: 207. 
Italy: before industrialization, 67- 

9; imperialism, 188 ff.; 261; 

270; Fascism, 272 ff.; 342. 
Iskra: 242. 

Japan: monopolies, 140; opened up, 

183 ff.; 280; 303. 
Jews: 164; 207; 262; 339-41. 
Johnson, Dr., on advertising: 148. 
Jugoslavia: see Yugoslavia. 
Junkers: 119. 

Kamenev: 245. 
Keats: 29. 
Kemal Pasha: 278. 
Kenya: 166. 

Kerensky, Alexander: 240-1; 243; 

244; 247. 

Kiaochow Bay: 188. 
Korea: 186. 

Laissez-faire: 54 ff. 

Lauderdale, Lord: 23. 

Lenin, N.: 220; 241 ff.; 255; 265; 

270; 271; 274-6; 305. 
Leopold II.: 178 ff. 
Liberalism: 58. 
Limousine: 131. 
Lincoln, Abraham : 115. 
Liverpool slave-trade: 16. 
Lloyd George, David: 259-60. 
Lo Bengula: 168-9. 
Lords: etymology of, 24. 

Macaulay, Lord: 56. 
Mail-order business : 144. 
Malaya: 166. 
Manchester: in proverb, 83. 
Manchesterism: 53 ff. 
Manchuria: 187. 
Marx, Karl: 78; 101; 103 ff.; 112; 

118 ; 215 ; 216 ff.; 219; 220. 
Marxists: 221 ff.; 231 ff. 
Masses: derivation of term, 89, 
Matabeleland: 166; 168-9. 
Maxim, Sir Hiram: 202. 
Mennonites : 231 . 
Mercury (quicksilver) : 202. 
Merry: etymology of, 10. 
Metric System: 207. 
Metternich, Prince: 67. 
Militarism: 196 ff,; 214; 269 ff. 
Mithradates the Great: 259. 
Monroe Doctrine: 160. 
Montenegro: 261. 
Montgomery Ward: 144. 
Morgan, J. P., Co.: 298. 
Mortgage: derivation of, 303. 
Mother's Day: 289. 
Motion Pictures: 130. 



Miiller, Adam: 91. 

Mussolini, Benito: 272 ff.; 334; 341. 

Napoleon: 7; 41; 43; 47; rate of 

travel, 71 ; 344. 
Napoleon III: 94. 
Napoleonic War: effect on British 

industry, 41 ff.; aftermath, 

43 ff. 
Nationalism: 120 ff.; economic, 152; 

<m<# imperialism, 162-3; >os- 

TFar, 257 ff.; in Germany, 265; 

in Soviet Union, 265-6. 
Nazism: 325 ff. 
New Caledonia: 173. 
"New Deal": 318 ff. 
"New Economic Policy": 250 ff.; 


"New Era": 292. 
New Guinea: 166. 
New Lanark: 46 ff. 
New York City: 132. 
New York Tribune: 110. 
Nicholas, Grand Duke: 47. 
Nicholas II: 209-10; 212. 
Nietzsche: 345. 
Nippon: see Japan. 
Nobel, Alfred: 202; 209. 
Nordenfelt: 200. 

O'Connor, Feargus: 86-7; 163. 
Olympic Games: 207. 
Orphan-labor: see Apprentices. 
Otto, N. A.: 128. 

Owen, Robert: career, 45 ff. ; 51 ; 84; 
90; 108; 145. 

Pacifism: 204 ff.; 214-5. 

Pagan: etymology of, 341. 

Palace Hotel: 117. 

Palestine: 280; 324. 

Paley, Dr. William: 33. 

Panhard & Levassor: 128. 

Panics: 1808, 40; 1816, 43 ff.; 1837, 
85, 299; 1847, 76 ff.; 108; 1851, 
111, 114, 299; 1989, 297 ff. 

Pan-Slavism: 176. 

Papal States: 68. 

Patent Office, U.S.: 95. 


Petroleum: 185 ff. 

Philanthropy, Organized: 32. 

Philippines: 194-5. 


Piedmont: 67. 

Pilsudski: 278. 

Poland: 260; 261. 


Portugal: 178. 

Possibilism: 219. 

Postal Union: 207. 

Potsdam: 265. 

Printsip, Gavrilo: 229. 

Profit System: 55. 

Proletariat: etymology of, 80. 

Protectionism: 153. 

Proudhon: 91. 

Quakers: 231. 

Radio Corporation of America: 294 

Railways : 70 ff . ; map of, 1848; 72. 

Rationalism: 334-5. 

Reform Bill, 1832:59. 

Renault Brothers: 128. 

Revisionism: 219. 

Revolutions: two kinds of, 3. 

Rhodes: 170-1; 197-8. 

Rio: 40. 

Rivera, Primo de: 278. 

Rochdale Cooperatives : 145. 

Rockefeller, John D.: 135 ff. 

Rodbertus: 91. 

Romagna: 69. 

Roosevelt, Franklin Delano: 318 ff. 

Russia: under Tsars, 174; map of 
empire, 177; socialism, 219-20; 
1905 Rev*, 220; World War, 239 
ff.; 1917 Rev., 241 ff.; Five- 

Sahara: 174. 

Saint-Simon, Claude Henri: 90-1; 


Samovar, iron: 72. 
San Francisco: 117. 



Sarajevo: 228. 

Schiller: 122. 

Schles wig-Hoist em: 123. 

Schneider, Eugene: 202. 

Schopenhauer: 345. 

Science in industry: 127 ff. 

Sears, Roebuck & Co.: 144. 

Second International: 222. 

Securities: 75. 

Senegal: 174. 

Serbia: 229. 

Shanghai: 95. 

Shantung: 188. 

Shaw, George Bernard: 219. 

Shelley: 29. 

Siemens, Werner: 127. 

Slavery: in Britain, 16 ff.; effect on 
industry, 113. 

Slavophils: 176; 239. 

Smetona: 278. 

Smith, Adam: 53; 140. 

Socialism: origin of term, 50; vs. 
communism, 108; Bismarck vs., 
125; spreads, 216 ff.; vs. war, 
221 ff.;231 ff. 

Society for the Promotion of Chris- 
tian Knowledge: 56. 

Soldier: etymology of, 205. 

Somaliland: 166. 

South Africa: 280. 

Sovereigns of Industry: 145. 

Soviet Union: see Russia. 

Spain: 178. 

Spengler: 345. 

Spinning- jenny: 5. 

Spiritualism: 50. 

Stalin: 245; 266; 304 ff.; 321. 

Standard Oil Co.: 136; 138. 

Steam-engine : 2 ff. 

Steffens, Lincoln: 314. 

Stephenson, George: 71. 

Stock Exchanges: 75. 

Strikes: see Unions. 

Submarines: 200. 

Sudan: 166; 174. 

Suffrage, World Alliance of Women 
for: 207. 

Technocracy: 91. 

Telegraph Union: 207. 

Telephone: 130. 


Tesla, Nikola: 127. 

Thibet: 166. 

Thoreau: 345. 

Times, The (London) : 102. 

Tonking: 174. 

Tories: origin of term; 58-9. 

Treaty: derivation of word, 265. 

Trotsky, Leon: 220; 245; 247; 304; 


Trusts: origin of, 137. 
Tunisia: 174, 189-91. 
Turkey: 200. 
Turkish Empire: 254. 

Uganda: 166. 

Ukrainians: 262. 

Ulyanov, V. I.: see Lenin. 

Unions, Labor: in Britain, 28, 84-5. 

United States: early industry, 64-5; 
"Golden Age/' 94-5; Civil War, 
112 ff. ; monopolies, 134 ff. ; im- 
perialism, 180-2; opens up 
Japan, 183 ff.; World War, 
255 ff., 285 ff.; "New Era/' 
286 ff.; Depression, 297 ff.; 
"N&w Deal/' 318 ff. 

Versailles, Treaty of: 263-4; 269; 


Vickers: 201. 

Victor Emmanuel II: 188. 
Victoria, Queen: 74. 

Wagner: 345. 

Wall Street: 293. 

Ward, Montgomery: 144. 

Watt, James: 2 ff.; 6; 29; 53; 64; 


Wei-hai-wei: 166; 188. 
Wellington, Duke of: 59; 71; 85. 
Wells, H.G,: 219. 
Whigs: origin of term, 59. 
White Man's Burden: 161; parody, 


360 INDEX 

Whitney, Richard : 298. Young Men's Christian Association : 
Wilberforce, William: 30 ff. 20T. 

Wilhelm II: 193-5; 210-1. Yugoslavia: 261. 
Wilno: 261. 

Wilson, Woodrow : 255 ff . Zaharoff, Basil : ' 199-202. 

Wireless: 130. Zanzibar: 166. 

Woolworth, F. W.: 144. Zionism: 207. 

World War 1 : 226 ff. ; cost, 236. Zinoviev: 245. 

Zululand: 166. 

Yeddo Bay: 185. Zuyder Zee: 322-8.